Falling Slowly
by Emily Destler
Summary: Gabriel Goodman is happy with his family life. Or, he thinks he's happy. Then again, he believes most people who think they're happy haven't thought about it enough. Most people who think they're happy are actually just stupid. Well, what to do with that? In this story, we will see the hardships a boy will have to face with a next to normal family and his 'happy' state of mind. AU.
1. Chapter 1: Just Another Day

**Falling Slowly:**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: I do not own Next to Normal, nor do I own the Goodmans. So, yeah.<p>

This fanfiction is an AU. Some characters are slightly OOC... okay, not just slightly. Gabe is alive and stuff. But let's just say that isn't the only thing that's made different from the original. That's all I'm giving up on the story. Warnings: There are or will be references to prescription drugs, some possible drug abuse, suicide attempt, mental health issues, delusional states, depression, bipolar disorder, Natalie's language, and lots of feels. You have been warned.

Notes: Well. This chapter is sort of boring, but... things will get better by next one. Promise. None of the aforementioned warnings will take place in this chapter.

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><p>\<p>

Chapter One: Just Another Day

Gabriel Goodman had just been driven back from football practice when he walked through the front door of his home, and, frankly, he was starving. He'd been running across a field for more than a few hours in the mild September heat and as he set his bookbag down on the stairs, all he could think was a thousand different things he would give up for a sandwich.

That is until he found his mother sitting alone by the kitchen table. She had a far-off look in her eyes that made Gabe worry and question what could have been wrong this time.

"Mom?"

She scared him when she got like this. His mom had been on antidepressants for as long as he could remember, battling and coping with mental illnesses which he, regrettably, happened to know a thing or two about. Needless to say, the gene was hereditary. He also takes various medications, has since he was a child. It was nothing too serious, his psychopharmacologist reassured him, but the episodes he'd apparently experienced in the past were enough to require the standard pills.

His mother looked at him as if she'd just noticed his presence, and he'd startled her. "Gabe! Oh... Hi, sweetie. Didn't see you there. Erm, h-how was football practice?"

He took a few steps forward and kept his voice soft. "It was good." His blue eyes carried sympathy in their wake as they darted across her face. "Are you okay?"

She glanced down at her hands, laid against the table a clenched into tight fists. Her pills were sprawled across the tablemat in a agitated and unorganized fashion. Wincing and unraveling them, she put on a smile and looked back up at her son. "I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about." She assured, before adding a wry smile. "Well, not at the moment, anyway."

She earned a grin from him as he reached out for an apple that rested on top of the basket, promptly taking a bite and speeding over to the pantry in search for something that tasted better.

His mom piped up from her chair, knew all too well what he was intending to do. "Don't spoil your dinner, kiddo."

Gave popped his head out from the door, "I won't."

He knew she didn't really cook anymore. In fact, he couldn't really remember a time when she had. But it wasn't her fault. Her and Dad had been arguing for a while now, and she often seemed too shaky to work a television remote, much less use a stove. Besides, Natalie and Dad were good enough cooks on their own, and when they didn't make dinner for the whole family, he could just as easily make himself something or drive to pick up food. She just wanted to be like a normal mom, and scold him once in a while with motherly things. She didn't just want to be the 'crazy one' all the time. Gabe knew the feeling well enough to understand.

Just then, he heard the frontdoor slam, and the familiar sound of shoes stepping through the house.

"Hello, sunshine!"

"Shut up, Gabe." Came the grumbled reply as Natalie walked past them.

"How was piano practice?" He asked with astonishingly sarcastic enthusiasm, popping his head a second time from behind the pantry door to look at her.

"Fucked." She replied cheerfully, before scowling and getting her school papers from the desk in the farthest corner of the room.

"Language, Natalie." Their mother reprimanded as his sister turned alway. Gabe watched in dissatisfaction as she ignored her. Again. It was as if Natalie hadn't even heard her, like she wasn't even there in the room with them.

Gabe sighed.

"Why does she hate me?" He heard his mother whisper harshly, obviously upset. He turned to her and grimaced at the lost look of confusion on her face.

Gabe was aware that Natalie had a grudge with their mom. He thinks it's because his mom pays more attention to him than to her. Which was kinda true. She'd always been there at all of his football games, cheering him on, being a mother, you know? But she was never there at Natalie's recitals. Sure, he'd only been to about two of them himself when Dad forced him, but it was still evident. He'd tried to talk to Mom about it but she insisted that Natalie wouldn't want her there anyway. That had been the end of that. So, yes, Gabe suspected Nat was jealous.

But that didn't mean she could just outright ignore her existence.

"Natalie,"

"What?" She snapped at the stern tone in his voice, already annoyed.

"Show your mother some respect."

She looked at him blankly for moment, then sneered. "You're a jerk." Gabe raised his eyebrows when she stormed off up the stairs, knowing she would only wind herself even tighter in her extensive homework.

His mother wore a tired expression.

"She's just being a teenager, Mom. Trust me, it's a phase. It'll pass."

"I'm not so sure."

"I am. Really, it's just mood swings taking. You know what it's like to be that age, huh?" Gabe asked as he finally settled on a bag of chips and snatches them from the top shelf. "I'm gonna go do some homework, I'll be in my room."

At that, his mom finally smiled, a real smile, not another fake one to make him feel better; the one he recalls seeing dozens of times over, but never onced really believed in. "You mean video games?"

He pointedly ignored the question with a goofy grin in her direction. He appreciate these moments whenever his mom could make a light-hearted joke, and even though said occurrences were becoming fewer and farther apart, he didn't dwell on it. Her happiness was his. "Call me if you need me."

"I will."

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><p>Review, please. ~Em<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: When Life Goes Down the Drain

**Falling Slowly: **

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: I don't own Next to Normal or Gabe and Diana Goodman. Deal.<p>

Alright, kiddies, time for the next installment.

Notes: Hey. So this chapter includes prescription drugs, and mentions of mental illness and therapy. As well as some Henry and Nat smoochie action. Oh, and how disgustingly mushy it can be. Enjoy.

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><p>Chapter Two: When Life Goes Down the Drain<p>

Gabe watched in horror from the upstairs window. Outside, by the front porch, his baby sister was kissing some stoner-kid goodbye. The kid she was apparently dating. _What? Since when_ _had she become interested in boys? _And she could definitely do much better than that guy! It was infuriating—not to mention he looked like a total dead-beat. Gabe crossed his arms and wondered how he could have missed this.

He slowly realized that watching Nattie make out with this boy was the fifth or sixth grossest things he'd ever seen in his life and turned away in disgust with a shiver.

His mom was there beside him when he began to speak. "When did she get a _boyfriend?_" He asked her, bewildered.

"Well, she is sixteen, Gabe. Don't you think something like this would have come sooner or later?"

"I... I guess. It's just—she's never even seemed even a little interested in the whole dating scene. It's weird."

"They're young. It happens. How old were _you_ when you had you're first girlfriend?"

"Fourteen—Oh. Yeah. _Right_."

She rested her hand on his shoulder and they both turned back to the window. The two lovebirds were hugging it out like it was some kind of show.

"Shouldn't I... Kick his ass, or something?" He mused once the pair began to walk down the hall, away from the scene.

Gabe shared a bond with his mom, where he felt like he could tell her anything. Sure, she was still his mother, and they had their little disagreements, but since they were both in very similar situations, they had a connection none of his other family members did. It was as such that the pair were a little isolated from the rest of the family. It severed any strong ties that Gabe could ever potentially have with his father, but that sacrifice wasn't for nothing.

His mom, the only one who understood what he was going through, always helped him through the stressful, crazy times in life. Gabe realized this more and more as time went on and, in addition to the medication that he had to take so constantly, discovered with daunting finality, accepted what it was doing to him:

_"I'm missing everything._ I swear it's like I can't pay attention to anything anymore. School's gotten so much harder since Dr. Fine gave me that new perscription."

His mother had empathy in her eyes when she next looked at her son. "I know what that's like." She sighed, and continued flatly: "Why do we let him do that? Dr. Fine. He takes over our lives... We _pay him _to take over our lives with these drugs that are supposed to help us."

Gabe considered this with dread, and quickly found that what he wanted more than anything was to just stop taking the prescriptions. He hated what the pills did to him throughout the day. He could focus on school if he wasn't feeling so dizzy and sick all the time.

Some of the side-effects were even starting to hurt his football skills.

The pills were hurting more than they were helping, and at this point, he knew he should do something about it.

All he could remember next was one moment he was looking at his mother, and the next, the interior of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, sifting through it fervently. He grabbed all of the bottles that belonged to him, and dumped their contents into the toilet without preamble. He got on his knees as he continued with the rest of the bottles he found still on the sink.

That's when he noticed her standing at the door way and watching him.

There was a pregnant pause, both of them remaining still for its duration.

"I—" Gabe vaguely recognized the feeling of an empty bottle clutched in his hand as his mind spun for what to say to her. "Is this a bad idea?" He decided to ask, voice small and soft, eyes on the floor.

"No," She said strangely, and even though Gabe wasn't looking, he could feel her expression of contemplation. Uncomfortable and sick, Gabe closed his eyes to concentrate. And, as if sensing what he really needed, she began an awkward walk to kneel beside her son, lifting his chin slightly so he would face her. "I don't want you to have to suffer because of Dr. Fine's opinion. It should be your decision to make. You're life. Not his. Remember that."

Gabe considered her words in silence before nodding, getting up from his knees to stare at the colorful pile of pills at the bottom of the bowl. His chest tightened while while he tried to figure out when he'd gotten so many different medications. He'd never needed so much before. Feeling cold, he looked away.

"Time to get rid of these." Gabe affirmed, then worry struck his face , looking up and adding: "Just—don't tell Dad."

She nodded understandingly, with an odd half-smile. "I won't. What he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?"

He smiled back appreciatively, just before finally pushing down the flush. Gabe watched, liberated, as every little pill disappeared.

And now, after all this time, he wished he could take it back.

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><p>Ooh. How foreboding. Review and I will love you forever. Kay? Kay. Its too bad this fandom isn't so popular. But, anyway, see you in the next chapter. ~Em<p> 


	3. Chapter 3: Problem Child (part one)

**Falling Slowly**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: I don't own N2N. Happy?<p>

This guy is pretty long. Or, should I say, _longer_.

Notes: Warnings for delusional episodes and a kinda-mental breakdown. And Natalie's coarse language. Hah, I forgot to mention that in previous chapters. Whoops. 'Cause, I mean, damn, that girl's got a mouth on her.

Alright, now is the time to mention the spectacular reviews I've gotten so far. Let me start out by thanking you three, clairlune, Elphie-Jolras, and Galinda of Canada (awesome names by the way), you guys rock. Reviews like that never fail to make me melt. You're super. I do hope you'll continue to chat me up in the progression of the story, 'cause that's like my favorite thing.

I'm a little nervous about this one. I'm not sure if it's poorly done or has weird pacing or how I did with the characterization, but it's because I didn't get much of a chance to look over this chapter before I wanted it out there. It could be a bit raw. And since I don't have a beta... Yeah.

Anyway, enjoy chapter three and prepare yourself for some feels. Just sayin'.

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><p>Chapter Three: Problem Child (part one)<p>

Dan was in a good mood when he came home the next day. A really good mood. In fact, he was so chipper that it made both of his kids have to doa double take from their spots in the dining room. From Gabe's vantage point, he ogled as he kissed his daughter on top of the head (receiving an 'ugh, _dad_' upon action) once he approached them and gave a happy sigh. "Everything's just great!" His grin was all teeth, looking down at his only son.

"Uh, what's wrong with you?" Gabe said wryly, wide eyes and a bewildered grin in spite of Natalie's apparent irritation. As the older brother, he had the duty of enjoying a little sister's problems and distresses. It was hardly a stretch, yet, ever since she could remember, he was a distant, mellow housemate rather than a annoyance dead-set on teasing the hell out of her. Not that it never happened, just not often. However, this didn't prevent the scowl sent Gabe's way.

"Why are you suddenly so delightful?" Natalie asked with a pointed look to her father, as cynical as always.

If one thing was for sure, it was that the kids never see their dad like this. It had been a while since either of them could remember conjuring a mere laugh from the man, much less a whole display of both cheerfulness and affection. He usually sat on the couch and brooded, or worked himself to death, or cooked and cleaned solo while worrying about Gabriel and his state during all previously mentioned activities. So, by the end of the day, he was fatigued and didn't say much more than a few words to either of them due to said exhaustion.

Obviously, tonight was very, _very_ different.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dan countered, and set his hands on either of his children's shoulders. "Things have been going so well lately! And I've decided that what better way to celebrate then sitting down at the dinner table like a family? What do you say, Gabe? Nat?"

Gabe's eyes lit up at the idea. Almost as soon as the words left Dan's mouth, he began imagining him, his dad, Natalie, and his mom all sitting together, enjoying a meal as a family. Come to think of it, he couldn't really remember the last time that had ever happened, especially since Dad and Mom stopped speaking. What, with Natalie and all her school work, Gabe was almost to the point of believing they would never be a family again. Maybe a good mood and a little initiative is all they really needed to be close again. To be happy. Or, of course, it could be a start. Maybe Mom and Dad could put an end to this ridiculous argument, too. Yeah, it sounded like a fine idea to him.

As for Natalie, well, she looked less than impressed. Gabe wondered what could be so off-putting about the whole deal for her to make that sour face.

"Come on, perk up, Natalie." Dan tapped her on the arm, and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine. Yeah, whatever. Do what you guys want."

Dan turned to Gabe and smiled carefully:

"What do you say, son?"

Gabe contained the enthusiasm when he looked up replied: "Yeah. I say let's do it."

Twenty minutes later, dinner was cooking and Gabe and his mom had set the table. His Dad was working the stovetop, and Natalie had her books to bare down on as she did her homework on the couch. After a moment or two, the doorbell rang, and Gabe pulled a face. Who could be at the door? His confusion was mostly based on the prospect that they never had guests. "I got it," he called, and paced to the front door. When he opened it, he couldn't believe he hadn't expected who would be on the other side.

"Oh, Hi. I'm Henry. Is... Uh, is Natalie here?"

Gabe glared at him, hard. _Oh, what does he want?_ Being slightly taller than the younger boy, who wore a ball cap over unkempt dark hair and smelled like pot, Gabe assumed it wouldn't be too difficult to intimidate. He closed the space between the doorway with his body when Henry tried to look behind him. "Why do you want to know?" He said lowly, not quite going for the friendly route despite how much this Henry-kid tried to appear polite.

"I... Just want to see her." He blinked slowly and Gabe internally scoffed. _Natalie really picked herself a bright one. _His blue eyes continued to pierce Henry's dark ones until he felt his baby sister pushing her way past him in the doorway.

"Henry! Oh god, what are you doing here?" She sounded fairly upset, Gabe noted with barely considered surprise. Actually, it was like more she was snapping at him. Henry seemed a little confused by her tone, too.

"I was just stopping by to see you, I wanted to... Is this your brother? You never told me you had a brother." Gabe hid a snicker at the abrupt change of direction in his slow-paced words.

"Don't you think there's a reason for that? Really, Henry, I can't talk right now." She attempted to push her brother back and away from her boyfriend with a very sisterly shove, earning herself a bit of room in the process. "We're about to have dinner and–"

"Natalie?" Their dad popped his head in what little space was left in between the siblings in the doorway. "Is this Harry? Nice to meet you!"

"**It's Henry**," Gabe and Natalie said in sync, and turned to each other the moment after to share a challenging gaze.

"Uh, it's nice to meet you, too." Henry smiled politely and stuck his hand in a space above Natalie's head for an awkward handshake.

Dan had the expression of pure glee when he said his next words, gesturing welcome with his hands. "Come in, come in, join us for dinner. We've got plenty of room." He pulled his kids back to let the boy in the doorway. His son would have immediately protested the idea if he weren't caught off guard from the abrupt yank back. It was a humorous sight, if you weren't currently in the situation. "I'd love the chance to get to know you better. Natalie talks about you all the time."

"_Dad!" _

Gabe was quickly becoming irate. This was supposed to be a _family_ dinner, not a 'get-to-know-nat's-pothead-boyfriend' party. But before he could put his two cents in to his father, the kid was already sitting in Mom's seat.

"Sit down, Nat, the food's ready. Gabe, you forgot the silverware, could you go get some, and a butter knife while you're at it. Thanks."

That was weird. He couldn't have sworn he and Mom had put down the silverware. Grumbling, he trudged to the drawer for the utensils and grabbed them with a clatter. When giving the forks to each person, he made sure to grip the one handed to Henry tightly and threw more daggers with his stare before relenting and letting the boy take it. Henry visibly swallowed.

Dan had already set the food on the table and was beginning to serve when he spoke up. "Alright, are we forgetting anything?"

"Uh, yeah." Gabe snorted, staring incredulously at his father as he took his seat.

Dan looked at his oldest with a question in his eyes. Gabe's jaw dropped.

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten. It was Mom's birthday today, for god's sake. Wasn't that why he'd been so excited when he got home? They should be —would have been—celebrating with a family dinner, but Dan just had to put Henry in the picture.

"What?"

"Dad, come on." He said impatiently, gesturing to exaggerate. "I can't believe you're still doing this. I mean, It's her birthday. _Remember?" _

The silence that followed was tense and deafening.

Gabe watched his Father with expecting -_demanding_- eyes as Natalie put her head in her hands. Dan's face shattered into a unwelcome, coldly familiar and tired expression, all of today's hopes slaughtered and buried by his son's few words.

Henry's potentially excited voice broke the quiet like glass shattering.

"_Who's birthday is it?_"

Natalie was the first to reply after a second tense silence. "M-My mother's. She... Died. A couple of years after I was born."

Henry's flattened, sympathetic 'oh' was enough to hold the moment until Gabe huffed a fit of humorless laughter and everyone looked up.

"W-_what? _What're you taking about?" He looked at all three of them, one-by-one. His confused smile faltered slowly, before he wore a face of utter seriousness. "Natalie." He snapped, attempting to show her reason. "Come on, she was _just_ here, You _just_ saw her. You know—stop ignoring her! I can't believe you! It's really gone too far this time." Even as he spoke with confidence, a sick feeling grew steadily in his stomach and twisted his insides.

At least, he expected his Dad to agree with him. What he did not expect was the picture he saw when he turned to him. His father's gaze was laced with pity and regret, punching holes straight through Gabriel's heart. "Dad. Tell her she's... Dad?"

Henry was staring at Gabe in shock, eyes wide with discomfort and jaw slightly gaping. Slowly, he came to understand the severity of the situation, and looked over to his girlfriend for guidance. Natalie seemed every bit as devasted as her father, but she also had another emotion that came a very close second. One even happy little Henry found increasingly easy to recognize. He could see her barely concealed anger, rising and building until she was ready to explode.

"Gabe." Dan spoke up when the weight of his son's gaze became too much for him to bear, eyes wet. His father's voice, which had earlier been so light and cheery, now possessed a tone gruff and somber. "_She isn't here_."

There was that loud silence again.

"_What?_" Gabe finally managed to get out. Hoarse. Quiet. Hurt. He felt dangerously close to some kind of outburst, like the world was crashing down around him and all he could do to save himself was run. His head spun madly. Amidst the chaos, there was awkward stillness, in which Dan, Natalie and Henry waited to gauge a more clear reaction, an answer as to how long they had let his delusions live unattended. Again. Another mistake made because Gabe was becoming harder and harder to control.

Emotions swirled like the toilet bowl carrying those awful pills away inside Gabriel's mind, fighting for the spotlight. He just felt so much in that moment, he was overwhelmed. He felt so angry and scared and sick and just so _confused. _

_"_I know you know, Gabe_."_ Dan continued quietly."Your mother...She's been dead for _twelve years. _I'm sorry_."_

Gabe heard this over voices that contradicted just that and shook his head slowly. His lost eyes were on his empty plate, flitting back and forth, brows furrowed and desperately trying to get a grip of the situation. Numbly, he wrapped his arms around his head. He tugged a little at his hair, hiding his face, staring blankly at the edge of the table. Still and quiet.

"This is fucked." He vaguely heard Natalie, hissing like she was in pain. Like she was the one in pain, and should be angry about it. However, Gabe was far too distracted by the torrent of conflicting emotions to actually care.

"Natalie!_"_

Tears pricked at his eyes, so he shut them tight, trying to retreat inside his mind to think. His heartrate was still amplified, despite his feeble attempts to regulate it. He wished the house would stop spinning.

_"Fuck this!" _

She flew up from the chair, letting it fall backward with a bang and stormed upstairs. Henry followed her awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable when he back away from the table with a few quick, thoughtless words:

"It was wonderful to meet you both."

_Yeah, right. _Gabe thought bitterly, for just a moment through his delirium.

He and his sister haven't agree on many things in their lifetime, but one thing was true that not one person in the household could deny:

_This was so fucked._

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><p>Ouch. Wow. So, yeah, I'm still awake, and, like I mentioned before, I really would love some lovely little reviews. Sorry about any feels I may have caused you to go through on this fine night. I loved writing the little 'Henry comes unexpectedly and HEY he stays for dinner' bit. Great job there, Dan. Am I the only one who just... really loves protective!bigbrother!Gabe? Because, lets be honest, its adorbs.<p>

. . . Forget I just said 'adorbs.'

And then after the little spoke of humor, everything pretty much goes to hell. On that depressing note, don't forget to review! Thanks for reading! ~Em


	4. Chapter 4: Problem Child (part two)

**Falling Slowly**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: It ain't mine. 'kay?<p>

Notes: Hey guys...It's me again. You know, that one chick who posted almost a month ago and is now just coming back with another feel-bad chapter. _You know you love the Gabe!whum, don't even try..._ Warnings for mentions of prescription drugs, delusions, a broken family, a mental breakdown, and just all around **'why the hell did you write this agony on paper, Em?'** I don't even know, guys. Don't even know.

Needless to say, it's hella sad, so brace yourself.

Ooh, Ooh, thank you for the reviews! I love them a genuinely enjoy reading (I'm not over-analyzing psht you're crazy) every single word you decide to send to me. I always get really excited whenever I see the number raise one or two when I refresh my phone. Like, you have no idea how uber-excited I get. Seriously, it's concerning.

But enough about me! Let's get on with the next installment. Enjoy!

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><p>Chapter Four: Problem Child (part two)<p>

_Dancing. Twirling—no, spinning. I've wound up, and now I'm gone, like a top, around and around. Out of control. I'm going to be sick. Somebody, anybody, just get me off this ride. I've gone. Spinning. Falling. Sinking._

_ I'm drowning._

No one person understands the feeling of helplessness until it has bombarded you at your worst. When this kind of devastation, this loneliness, grips you like a vice, nobody can reach out to you. Nobody can save you, not to pick you off the ground and put you back on your feet, nor to kneel down by your side and treat the symptoms with care and comfort. You're isolated and afraid and confused until what you need has found you. Gabriel _needs_. But he's lost with no way to get back home, only because—he realizes with a twist in his gut—he had never really known the way in the first place.

Somewhere in the back of Gabe's mind are the answers, but that place is clouded with warning and fear. It's dark and frightening in the parts of his brain that know the truth, that understand. And just like the boy who needs his mother, he's too afraid to visit them and learn what's its like to not have one at all.

Upstairs, Natalie forcefully slammed her door shut and started throwing things, trashing her room. Teenagers. Henry waited outside of the door, twiddling his thumbs nervously, balancing his deep concern for her as well as the discomfort of being in such a bizarre situation. Meanwhile, downstairs, Dan paced the floor of the dining room, alternately scrubbing his face and shooting a worried glance at his son. Gabe remained with his head in his hands, stock-still, and dwindling.

Excruciatingly long moments passed before Dan finally began to speak, uselessly seeking the attention of his not-so-lucid son.

"What about the new meds? Gabe, they were working... Jesus. Listen to me: I'm not sure how long this one has been going on, but I know we can fix it." _Just empty words._ "Look at me. It'll get better, I promise." Dan began picking up the unused silverware to put back into the drawers. "You just have to cooperate. That's all you really need to do. We'll figure this out. We can... We can get a new round from Dr. Fi—"

The interjection was immediate.

"_No!"_ Cried Gabe, fists slamming onto the table, rattling the forks that hadn't been retrieved yet, still lying atop the glass plates. His expression was fierce, an abrupt switch in a hair's breadth of a second. His tired eyes burned with defiance, outright anger, at even the suggestion of going back to Dr. Fine; the one who'd manipulated him for years, degraded him to a head-case and stuffed him with medication. _Mom would be so disappointed_. Gabe started to tremble. "It doesn't work! _They_ don't work! They only make everything worse."

Dan pinched the bridge of his nose.

Admittedly, this gave his son a twinge of guilt that he wished he didn't have to always feel. Wished the voice in his head that sounded too much like his own wouldn't throw accusations around. _You're a burden. A nutcase. A problem._

"Gabe, look. I know this is hard—" Dan started, but the ill-considered words could have been shouted as loud as by a drill sergeant from the way the atmosphere shattered.

"You... _what did you say_?"

It seems that guilt would be short lived after all. It was quite frightening how instantly Gabe could transition into a person who let his emotions and impulses rule over all other personal morals.

There was a tense pause.

Dan sighed. "I know that you're hurting."

Gabe shot up from his seat like a bolt, chair scraping against the floor.

How dare he?

"Oh, really?" A chilling laugh bubbled out of his throat before he snarled and added: "What, exactly, do you know?"

How _dare_ he?

Gabe was about to blow. His adrenaline thrummed and blood pressure rose to the point of no return. To the point where he struggled to not let his vision go absolutely blurred, bottling up the lack of control and the need to scream. Maybe it was the injustice of it all that kept him focused, or maybe just willpower, because he managed to keep a top on it. His next words were thankfully coherent.

"You have no idea what it's like! Don't even try to give me that empathetic-_I-know-how-you-feel-_bullshit! Stop pretending like you understand what it's like to be this way! You can't compare yourself to me, to this! And don't try to tell me it's easy, that's it's fixable, because it's not and you damn-well know that!"

"I just want to help you, Gabe!" Dan shouted back, though in a tone more desperate than aggressive. "I can't do that if you refuse the medication! I know it's hard, but they're meant to help you." The words came out of his mouth easily, by memory, for he'd had this conversation more times than once. He, regrettably, had a vague idea of how the situation, as challenging as it was, could potentially be pacified.

Although, that is not to say it didn't distress him to see his son brought down to this state, wide-eyed and confused and, worst of all, so upset at him. He was reminded all too much by his watery, accusing blue eyes of harder times, so many years ago, with another.

Dan had once thought Gabe's eyes were a gift. But he stopped feeling that way a long time ago.

Every laugh line and eye roll and tear was _her_.

Every heart-breaking bout confusion or morbid understanding that passed, palpable, through those eyes has long since been obliterated to a painful picture from Dan's past. So much so that it was almost too much to bear. Had all the times he'd hoped and prayed for his son to be different, to be happy, been for absolute naught? Dan coped by ignoring the stark resemblance, but it was so hard, especially now, to not hear a haunting voice replace the sound of Gabriel's relentless shouting and feel a stab of deft pain where his heart was, reeling in the bitter irony of it all.

Dan closed his eyes, fearing he too may become lost in his mind. He dismissed the memories promptly, his world oozing back into a cool, calm, grey mock of a color.

_Bang! _

A thump and a shatter brought him back to his kitchen with a startling tug. Beseeching the source of commotion, Dan's eyes fell to the floor, and fixed. He shortly wondered if witnessing this was any better than the memories.

_Twirling, Spinning... Drowning. I'm drowning. Somebody, help me!_

Gabe sat trembling on the floor, anguished, and sank deeper. His knees and head had become tucked and let his arms wrapped around himself. He shook with adrenaline and the fear of being consumed by the sudden sense of despair that overcame him. He didn't recall feeling this type of agony before now, but then again, how could he know for sure?

How could he possibly expect himself to know anything if he couldn't tell the difference between reality and hallucination?

So he hid. He cowered from reality like it were his enemy, mind tricked by his lowest mania. And with no drugs to dull the aftershocks of such a depressive drop, he remained, unreachable next to the scattered pile of glass that used to be a cup and next to her chair, toppled on it's back.

He heard Dan once again attempted to attain his son's attention, felt him kneel to the ground to console him, but to no avail._ Don't you know it's useless?_ In truth, there was only one person that could put him back on his feet, and trusted him to walk a few free steps without the crutch of Paxil, Ambien, and Prozac. One person he could confide in, and loved enough to return the favor. One person who understood.

_ And where is that person?_

_Dead!_

The word rung in his ears like a siren. He flinched and covered them. Dan placed a hand on Gabe's shoulder, and he flinched again, shuffling from the touch, muttering helplessly, shaking his head, face hidden, voice muffled.

"You don't know... You don't know..."

Dan licked his lips a scooted a bit closer. "Gabe, what are you afraid of? I'm here for you, you know that. How could something go wrong... That I can't see? But I promise, we won't give up on this. I won't let go."

Gabe sobbed, wishing his father just understood. All the anger in his system has melted into a hopeless sense of despairing. He felt betrayed by his illness, cheated out of a proper mourning, and that hurt like nothing else.

_ Drowning..._

A warm hand covered his, comforting. But he knew this felt different.

_He was afraid to look up_.

Suddenly, the image of pills rushing down the toilet drain came back to the forefront of his brain, in stark colors that promised regret. Slowly, he raised his head from the crook his arms had made, red eyes tracing the outline of their clasped hands and her face. He didn't blink.

She looked down at him with a sad smile. Her voice sounded distant, like a whisper, once she spoke.

"_Gabe. I'm here_."

Her eyes promised what words couldn't and he knew at the same moment he was damned.

"_I'm here_." She insisted.

His face contorted and tears rushed down his cheeks, at a crossroads to either embrace her or cover his ears and scream.

And then she was yelling. Shouting, but no, not at him. At his father. His father who refused to hear her, despite the meaning and importance of her words.

She was shouting in _his defense_.

While Dan tried desperately to get through to his son, his mother fought back relentlessly to a lost cause. It was_ unbearable_ to watch.

"_You can't expect this to just heal itself, Dan! Look at me! You have to see what's really going on and be there for your son!"_

"Gabe, it just takes some time. I'm going to be here, it'll get better, I swear. Look at me. I'm here."

"_Gabe, sweetheart, look at me. It's alright. I'll always be here_."

He covered his face with his hands, no longer trying to bite back the hysterical sobs that racked his body.

"Shhh, Gabe, you're okay, everything's okay."

But _her_ voice had grown ever closer, and echoed closely in his ears.

"_I know, sweetie, I know. I'm right here. Always_."

He felt a warm pair of arms wrap around his shaking body, equally as comforting as they were restricting, suffocating... Always?

Define always.

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><p>Right in the feels. SO sorry this took so long to write. I kept on procrastinating and saying "Oh, I'll get it done tonight," pretty much every night for the past two weeks... And yeah, you can see how effective that has been. *dainty voice* '<em>Has<em> it been nearly a _month_? _Oh_, I had _no_ idea!' *bats eyelashes*

...I'm a horrible person. So, anyway, you may have seen a couple familiar phrases i.e. in Dan's dialogue. Heheh. Yeah, this is how you spot a bad writer, when they try to inconspicuously steal lyrics and pass it off. Hah. Weak.

So basically, if you hadn't noticed, in this AU... Gabe is Diana.. and Diana is Gabe. Simple enough? ABSOLUTELY FREGGIN NOT. Oh my goodman, is this hard to do! You try switching the protagonist as wife into a son and mother into a brother and 40 to 18 and so on. Not to mention pretty much everything else in the entire story that I have to change or switch around or warp this way or the other. I just hope that it flows.

I'm also really worried about this chapter, you know, because I've never really written a mental breakdown before and I basically just shattered Gabe's heart and stomped on it with cleats and that was freggin hARD TO WRITE NO WONDER IT TOOK SO LONG HUZAH I HAVE AN EXCUSE! Haha, no I don't. There's never an excuse. But back on the point of self-deprecation, I don't know how good this is so I would love more than I already do (which is saying something) if I got more of them beautiful reviews from you beautiful people.

Love ya! Thanks as always for reading! Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long.

Probably will. How the hell am I suppose to Gabe-ify _Superboy and The Invisible Girl_? THE ANSWER TO THE IMPOSSIBLE QUESTION. Oh, boy. Wish me luck. ~Em


	5. Chapter 5: An Apple a Day

**Falling Slowly:**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: S'not mine.<p>

Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late. And you get a short chapter. You see, nobody wins. Get this, I had this whole Supermom and the Invisible Girl (by the way, thank you very much, my dear _clairlune_) all typed up, and it was long and in detail and just... really... a lot of hard work. Do you see where this one's going? You guessed it. All. Deleted. In. Seconds. FOR. NO. REASON.

I was not a happy camper.

_So_, once the aftershocks (heh) of that mishap wore off, I channeled my inner soul and tried my best to get the basic principle of this chapter on my Evernote once more. And it didn't really work. I'm really sorry.

Notes: THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS. I love you guys for these, seriously, and when you tell me I can hit home with you and make you emotional with my simple fiction, I'm thrilled. I could talk about my love for your words for pages, but I have to get on with the chapter. Its basically a Gabe-ified, non-musical version of Superboy and the Invisible Girl, but realistic. And I did it like this to keep to par with the rest of the story. So, no manipulative ghost-Diana. _Not yet_... _Because it's a-comin'. _It's seriously just Natalie-central, so the only language warnings. And she's kind of a bitch. (_I don't like Natalie, sh, don't tell anyone.)_ And that's pretty much it. It's very short. I guess that's deserves warning. Sorry.

Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

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><p>Chapter Five: An Apple a Day<p>

"When he gets like this, he's useless! He can't use the phone, can't drive."

"I bet he's got great pills," Henry pipes up, but quickly backtracks.

It had taken several minutes, but eventually Natalie had let him inside her room. But with all the screaming that had was unfortunately easily heard from the second floor, it was a poor thing she hadn't relented sooner. But since then, his gilfriend has been ranting about the unfairness of her situation and the inanely blatant madness that overrode her brother.

"I mean, not that I would go there." Henry assured. "That shit's inorganic."

"And totally ineffective, apparently."

A small pause ensued while Natalie sulked, plopping on the floor and bringing her knees to her chest.

"I'm old school." Her boyfriend promptly prided, conjuring an apple from his jacket pocket and turning his back from her. "Dying breed. All the preppies and the jocks are stealing from their parents' medicine cabinets and popping Xanex and snorting Aderol—"

"Really?" Cut in Natalie, an unreadable expression on her face.

"But not me," continued Henry, "I am the master of the lost art of making a pipe—" he displayed his work of art in open palms with a cheesy grin, "out of an apple."

"Yeah, you're the MacGyver of pot." Henry chuckled and kneeled to her, lighter in hand. "You promise this will help?"

His face fell a bit. "No."

She turned away.

"What?"

"You know, it _always_ happens just like this." She snapped, eyes flashing with anger and still trained on the floor. "Everything's all calm and my dad is happy for once and things are good, then something sets him off and it's a huge fucking reminder nothing will ever be okay. It's like," she gestured wildly, her voice steadily raising in volume and hysteria, "everything is centered around him. Always. It never gets a rest. I'll think for once that I'm a part of a real family, and then everything goes batshit and I'm just sitting there, watching, meaningless... _Invisible!" _

She met his eyes finally, wide and buldging from the force if her outrage. But, despite it, she only felt herself relax slightly because she saw his raised eyebrows and his mouth twitching, trying to muster something to say.

"You just... _Can't _understand."

"That's not true,"

"Yes, it is!" Her voice bubbled with humorless laughter. "For one, you don't even have siblings, do you? Uh huh, much less psychotic ones who just _can't let anything go!" _

"Natalie–"

"And my dad! My dad can't focus on _one_ thing without worrying what _he's_ gonna do next. He's so consumed with it, and all of the problems Gabe has, which we barely knows the half of, I know _I've_ lost count! And it's getting worse, I just keep getting more and more invisible and it's so fucked up! We can't _live_ like this! _Any_ of us! No one can _live_ like this!"

"_Natalie." _Henry's voice was a harsh whisper, and somehow a thousand times more effective than a shout.

She froze. You see, if you stayed silent and listen hard enough, focused on the right places, you could just make out the sound of shuffling and the shadow of a still figure passing under the doorframe. Wide eyes trained to the spot, momentarily stunned. They both knew without a doubt who had been passing through the hall way.

_Fuck_.

This thought was confirmed by the sound of a bedroom door slamming shut just a few rooms down.

A few moments passed while the pair processed what Natalie had just done. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. _She ran to the door, on impulse, but stopped short just as her hand was about to reach the doorknob. That's when frustration, as it was bound to, kicked in to battle against her first judgment. She paused and looked down at her hand. Meanwhile, Henry quietly waited for whatever was to come. She ran her hand through her hair and hissed in anger, slamming her small fist against the wooden hollow.

Silence.

Natalie was the first to break it.

"The apple."

"Excuse me?"

She faced Henry, both irritation and resignation strewn across her features, and hand outstretched expectantly.

"The apple." She repeated.

Henry decided against letting out a sigh.

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><p>sORRY. It's crap, I know, don't look at me. But, you know, review, though. ;)<p>

I had to use most of the original musical conversation in this chapter, because, you know, you can't just let go a line like "the MacGyver of pot." aND THE CHAPTER TITLE HAHA SERIOUSLY CAME UP WITH IT TWO MINUTES AGO AND THOUGHT I WAS SO CLEVER. ahHAHA. HA. Yeah.

Review and you shall receive an apple pipe from yours truly.

~Em


	6. Chapter 6: Deaf

**Falling Slowly:**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: n'mine.<p>

HEY GUYS! OMG it actually didn't take me a whole month to write another chapter! Just most of the month. Heh. AND THIS CHAPTER IS VERY LONG! For once I have an actual long chapter! Yes! Okay, thank you guys for the reviews on the last, I love reviews so much ugh, thanks! Thank you for all the ideas and feel free to message or review me if you have constructive criticism and ideas I love hearing them! Thank you clairlune for the lovely message, thank you to the new reviewers like The Cocky Undead and dance-live-sing, and thank you to elphie-jolras for that grand, huge, brilliant, entertaining review, haha, you had me blushing and laughing while honestly being touched. And, Elphie, I think I've seen you on tumblr! The same url came up on my dash and I followed. If you wanna chat me, I'm _aaronjolras-and-blagtaire_ ;) and that goes for anyone! And thank you to my anonymous reviewers, who can be so sweet as well!

Notes: Alright, so not many warnings here, just mentioning of a mother's death (so I guess technically major character death? but not?),

a psychiatrist appointment, delusional episodes, some bipolar mania, you know the usual, and** an anxiety attack. May be triggering to some viewers.** I figure I should mention any basic trigger warnings, and** if anyone wants to tell me to mention something that upsets them that I don't already do, ****_please _****review and tell me**, because I will be on that shit like nobody's business, no questions asked. Respect.

Alright, now that that's over with, we can get this really long chapter started! Enjoy. I'm a bit nervous about the quality and I apologize for any typos because I actually _just_ finished this, like, ten minutes ago. hehe. DONT FORGET TO REVIEW :D

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><p>Chapter Six: Deaf<p>

The stark blue of Gabriel's eyes trained on the grey of the sky outside of the car window, dark greens made up of soggy grass blurring together and racing past his peripheral. Raindrops tapped lightly, peacefully, against the windshield, only interrupted each time his father tried to start a conversation.

Gabe had always preferred cloudy days over the supposedly 'beautiful' sunny days. This confused his friends and family constantly, and each time he tried to explain, it would get lost on his tongue and the listener declared him '_depressed_.' In the joking, cliche sense of course. Those ignorant would stay ignorant. But Gabe, despite his deficiencies, is a man of reason. He thought, _clouds make the world more attractive, without making it hard to look at._ Afterall, the light of the sun is all well and good, until it blinds a man. What good is a single day in the sun if your sight doesn't stick around to appreciate the colors of the rest of your life? Gabe felt he could relate.

Colors, speaking of, were very important to him. But he held these ones in particular in his mind most fondly. The softness of a cloudy sky calmed him, and the intensity of the water-darkened colors transfixed him. The red of bricks was redder. The green of trees deeper. Grey gravel on beaten roads blended into a puddle-ridden, smooth, black path he was currently tracing with his eyes, flicking at every wet yellow line cemented along the edge.

Everything was so much clearer when it rained.

This was the perfect and worst metaphor for his life. Both _perfect_ and _worst_ because it was the truth.

"Don't get discouraged." Dan began again, the enthusiasm in his voice way too fake to keep his son's stomach from going sour. "I'm sure we'll find a doctor who can treat you without the drugs."

Gabe, who's temple rested against the glass and hand beneath his chin, didn't look up.

"There's someone out there for you." He felt his father's eyes on him. He almost felt the false hope and concealed doubt in them, too. A silence. "In the depression chat-rooms, they say it's like dating. You have to keep going 'til you find the right match."

Gabe finally turned his head, arm falling to rest rest against the window frame, brows fixed in incredulity and voice warranted with weary disbelief.

"They have _depression chat-rooms_?"

Dan grinned. "And this doctor's supposed to be amazing. A real rock-star, I'm telling you, three different women at work gave me his name!"

Dan smiled, all innocent, nodding his head in affirmation. Gabe deadpanned, then curled his upper-lip testily, nose set pre-snarl. "_Three different people at work know I'm nuts_?"

His father's face dropped. "Uhmm..." He hummed, uncomfortable, turning his sight back to the road.

Gabe rolled his eyes and sighed.

A few minutes later, they arrived in the parkinglot of the building that harbored this pediatric psycho-oncology _rock-star. _When they stepped out of the car, Gabe vaguely remembered what it was like seeing Dad open the backseat door for his sister before when they made these trips to the psycologist and Nat was too young to be left alone at home. She would wait for hours in the waiting room, and always complained of boredom and _the want to go home._ Of course, these requests were utterly unappeasable, and back when she was too young to understand the reason for the weekly visits, difficult to listen to. He remembered her words from behind the bedroom door in the hallway last night and forced the entire thought, along with the guilt and shame, away. He caught up with Dan, who held the door open several strides away from him.

On entry, he was assaulted with the discomfort of a perfectly temperatured room and the smell of mothballs mingled with an unamable air-freshener. The room itself was the decidedly the shade of grey Gabe did _not_ like, gloomy and hued with blue, and the inspiration posters tacked to the walls made him fidget. Nothing, not years of experience, would get him used to this kind of atmosphere.

Dan signed them in at the front desk with a condescendingly kind nurse sat behind it at attention. Naturally, Gabe chose the polyester seat that was farthest from every other person in the room, which happened to be in a drafty corner with a tattered copy of _Highlights_ atop the seat. He picked it up and set or in the seat beside, vaguely hoping that this would make his father choose a chair other than the one next to him. He never discovered why, but having his dad near him in the gut-wrenching silence of the waiting room in these clinics made him unendingly nervous.

"Gabriel?"

Before Dan could even take the magazine off of the seat and set it on the table nearest, as he was clearly bound to do, a tall, black haired, handsome man with dark-rimmed glasses held on the folds of his black suit appeared in the gap between the opened door and frame. His eyes searched the room when he raised them from his clipboard and Gabe felt obligated to stand up. He ignored the common looks from the occupants of the room, and his dad's pat on the shoulder when the doctor beckoned him into the hallway.

They walked only a few paces before they stopped out side of the office.

"Hi, Gabriel, I'm Dr. Madden." The man said swiftly as he opened the next door on the left and allowed the teenager in the new room. This one wasn't much different from the rest of the building, save the desk and few personal items scattered across it, like picture frames and small sculptures. The only thing besides those awful, not-at-all-inspirational inspirational posters that hung on the walls was a framed certificate of his PhD in Child Psychology. _Of course_. Who said real life didn't have cliché?

Once inside they shook hands, and the teen's grin looked more like a grimace when he corrected, "Um, 'Gabe' is fine, actually."

"Alright, Gabe." The man smiled charmingly. "It's nice to meet you. Go ahead and take a seat and we can get started?"

Before a response reached his lips, the teen felt a harsh grip on his wrist and he flinched, pulling his hand back and pausing for a few shocked moments. He blinked, looked down at his arm, and at the doctor, but nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have occurred. _That was weird. _ Finally, he took a seat, confused. Dr. Madden seemed unfazed.

When Dr. Madden set his clipboard and Gabe's file on his desk and sat down in the chair behind it, he finally met the boy's eyes. The control in them was palpable. They were the color of dark, chocolate brown that complimented his features well, and the patient stared into them awhile, and got a little lost along the way, focusing on the as something of a screensaver for his rapid-fire and heavy thoughts. Faints lines in the psychologists eyes crinkled when he smiled at the him and asked:

"Are you nervous, Gabe?"

"What?" He swallowed, blinking again. "Oh. Um... Yeah, a little, I guess. Kinda strange, actually. Different from usual."

The psycologist stayed quiet, a stationary listening-expression on his face. A long stretch of silence followed, but it felt longer to Gabe and it wasn't very long before he felt the urge to clear his throat.

"Now _you go_."

Dr. Madden chuckled. "Well, let's start by getting to know each other a little: psychotherapy and medication usually work best in tandem, but we can try the first alone and see how far we get. Now why don't you tell me-"

At this very moment our Gabe stopped listening, because a cold feeling started running through his veins and trickling down his spine. Everything felt suddenly... Ominous. His breath quickened the way it does when you shower cold water above your head, facial expression tightening and hardening, brows knitting to keep concentrated on the doctor. Starkly, he felt that same painful grip on his two wrists, pinned to the armrests out of the psychologists reach. He began to feel sick, telling himself over and over that's it's not real but the phantom grip tugged, persisting on. All he could do was yank his hand to his chest, sucking in a sharp breath and shivering anxiously.

The feeling stopped.

It actually took him few seconds after that to realize Dr. Madden asked him a question. Embarrassed, and flustered out of his wits, he gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"It's alright, I just asked, what's your history? With treatment or just your life in general."

"My history. Uh... Well," Gabe shook his head to clear it, fingers still clutching at his wrist. "I was diagnosed bipolar about five years ago... They had to wait 'til I was a certain age, you know. But, uh... Things had been going on before that and... It turns out there's much more to it than we thought."

Dr. Madden nodded. "Well, often the best that we can do is put names on collections of symptoms. It's possible bipolar has more in common with schizophrenia than depression."

Gabe visibly blanched at that. "Oh."

He earned a curious look. "Yes?"

A beat of hesitation dropped like a heavy weight in his stomach, drying his mouth and heating his face. If a loaded question existed in one word, this would be that word. There were a lot of things too-often left unsaid that he was going to say on impulse. In fact, there were a lot things he'd wished he'd said before to people that weren't _her_. People that would help. _People who are still alive._ But that's not something he could think about right now, or ever, really. Right now, he just stammered.

"Well, um... It's just that, bipolar disorder's kinda a... Family thing, I guess. I mean, as in, my relatives had it. As far as I knew, it was completely genetic, but I don't remember hearing about... Schizophrenia. That's... Uh, that's kinda extreme, right?" The idea itself made him want to vomit. In Gabe's manic, yet naïve, mind, that particular disorder is associated with the worst of the worst in medical horror. Straight jackets and white rooms and bed straps, being locked forever away in some terrible asylum, never to see your loved ones again, alone with the horrible things you can conjure in your head, so afraid... His hands trembled and he sighed out a breath. "S-so it's possible my bipolar disorder's genetic?"

"Yes, sometimes there's a predisposition to illness, but actual onset is only triggered by some traumatic event."

The look Madden gave him spiked his temper a little. He's clearly read his file, his familial status. Hell, he has his papers right in front of him. But the man's looking at him expectantly, like he's waiting to see if he'll tell him about it. Looking at him like he thinks he won't. Like it's a test. Gabe didn't like being condescended, not when he's faced it for most of his life in situations just like these.

Albeit, he laughed dryly. It sounded humorless, and his voice was hollow. "I... Don't know what to say. I don't really wanna get into this... Every time I do it just feels like... Like I'm talking about someone else. Like this can't possibly be my life. _I know_ that sounds weird, but... Sometimes I think that... That this story... Can't be mine."

Finally, the teen met the doctors eyes and didn't instantly shy away, gaining the courage to challenge his patronizing gaze.

"I see."

"No, you don't." His voice was neither bitter, nor venomous. It was quiet and calm, almost resigned.

Madden nodded his head fairly and changed the subject, respecting at least that much of his patient's pride. Gabe locked his gaze with this practical stranger, thinking he'll be more prepared if he tried to guess what the doctor would suggest they talk about next.

Dr. Madden reclined back in his chair, crossing his legs and setting the end of his pen against his lip. "Why don't you tell me about the last time you were happy?"

Happiness? Gabe didn't think much about it. It didn't seem to be a very important aspect of his life, or rather, less important than holding onto his own sanity. There were far too many things to think about, too many burdens to worry over, to wonder if he is happy or if he's not. And he has a hunch he would want to think about it anyway.

Well, that makes the answer obvious.

"I can't."

For the first time, Dr. Madden gave him an dissatisfied look, but his voice remained the same. Soft and calm. "Will you at least try?"

"I..."

"Are you happy when you're, uh, with your friends? At school?" The psychologist listed, encouraging Gabe to go on with direct hand gestures.

"I...I _think_ I am. Or, maybe not. No."

Dr. Madden cocked his head to the side very slightly. "Is there a difference between being happy and just thinking you're happy?"

Gabe paused before he spoke again, measuring his words carefully. "Most people who think they're happy just haven't thought about it enough. Most people who think they're happy are actually just stupid."

To his surprise, that earned a laugh from the doctor. "I see." Madden beamed, leaning in, closer to him. Gabe grinned in spite of himself. Within the next pause, before Dr. Madden delivered another question, he wondered what his life would be like if he could make people laugh all of the time. He figured he would be able to love himself more

"Are you happy with your family?"

_Oh_.

That had struck a chord.

"M-my family?"

"Yes. Your father," Madden vaguely pointed to the door, referencing the man waiting in the room down the hall. But Gabe's happiness reflected on those around him, so his father wasn't a good example. Despite all of the tired man's efforts, Gabe always saw through that thick facade of wishful thinking. Well, _he_ wished he could bring real, geniune happiness to the people around him. _He_ wished that he could refrain from hurting his family so often. "You're... Sister?" Madden listed on, "Your mother?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"_My mother is dead_." Gabe spat.

This was a terrible tactic to take. Dr. Madden would soon realize at least that and learn from it.

The boy's gaze blistered into a hot glare and trained on the man who dare mention _her_ after the night he had. It seems his rationality has once again been eradicated by the sheer flame of his manic anger, and, honestly, there couldn't have been a worse time for it. His sense of anger influenced his delusions just as quickly, and much more efficiently, as his sense of grief. Alone, they were risky. The two of them entwined together was formidable.

The feeling was instantaneous. Both of his wrists were pinned, like they're being grabbed in bruising grips and he closed his eyes tight. That's when her voice is whispered right next to his ear, too close and too sudden.

"_I'm alive, Gabe. Don't listen to them. They're all wrong._"

No.

"_I'm alive. I'm alive, I promise. Just look at me, sweetheart, open your eyes._"

No...

He shifted to the side, unable to escape her vice grip and siren-song.

"_But, I'm your mother. Don't you love me? Gabe, look at me. I'm alive, I'm right here. Just open your eyes, please._"

No, you're not real, you're dead. You're dead.

_Pain_. He bit lip in anguish, the prickly feelings of an awful sensation spreading through his body like blood through veins. He couldn't tell if it was from his chest or his heart. Physical or emotional. Maybe they we're one in the same.

"_How could you not love your own mother? I need you, and you need me, too. I know you do. Gabe, please._"

He cringed at the desperation in her voice, no, not her voice. Its not hers because It's not real, it's a hallucination. It's not real. It's _not_ real.

He shook his head, refusing to succumb to the drug of her presence.

"_I said look at me. They're trying to take you away from me! Don't let them do this. Don't betray me like this. You're my son. How could you do something like this to me?_"

Please stop. Please, just leave me alone!

His frantic eyes closed, concentrating on the consequences of these thoughts.

"_Gabe, don't do this._"

He was unused to the venom he now heard in her voice.

Please.

He trembled.

"_Gabe!_"

No...

"_I'm alive!_"

Please!

"_Open your eyes, dammit!_"

"Stop!" Gabe screamed, eyes screwed shut and hands over his ears, squeezing his head hard with the pressure he instilled in his fingers. He was going to die, right here, right now. He thought for sure, this is hell. An unrecognizable voice called his name distantly, but he didn't respond. Something as simple as that definitely wouldn't make the teen open his eyes again. Nothing would. It seems that the blind man prays for sight, but never thinks it better to pray for deafness. Currently, he was at a loss for both.

Hands grabbed at his shoulders. Real, solid hands. He curled in on himself, frazzled mind now numb and uncomprehending, as if television static vibrated at his eardrums and blurred the lines between internal and external cowardice. He barely even registered he was on his knees.

A male voice called his name again, clearer this time, and it rung in his ears, accompanied with a gentle shake from the hands on him. Slowly, sluggishly, he faded back to reality and returned to the clinic.

"...G—riel? Gabriel? Gabriel, can you hear me? You're alright, you just got a little lost for a second. You fell out of your chair. But everything's fine, everything's alright."

The tension in his muscles released a little and his face relaxed slightly, soothed by a calm and meaningless voice. Although, his eyes kept shut, and his hands remained placed over his ears. It would take much more coaxing to get him lucid enough for Dr. Madden's assistance. His head was swimming and he felt faint. He realized vaguely he was gasping for air.

"I need you to breathe, Gabe, can you do that for me?"

The hands on him tried to pry his fingers from his ears and succeeded, removing the pressure and giving back a full, unmuffled sense of hearing. But he just twined his restless fingers in the hair of the back of his head instead and clenched his eyes in a brief moment of struggle. Other than that, he was mostly compliant.

"Breathe with _me_, okay? Listen to me and follow along. Take deep breaths and let them out slowly." The psychologist took exaggerated breaths at a steady rhythm for Gabe to begin to copy when he was ready. The gasping eventually turned into labored inhales and careful exhales, each one deeply considered and increasingly controlled. Soon he fell into tandem with the calming exercise, focusing on this and only this for he knew it was the only way to keep up the progress. Eventually, his mind cleared, and the spikes of anxiety came less frequently. He didn't realize he was shaking until he actually _stopped_ shaking, slowly uncoiling from the tight ball he'd wound himself into and letting down the double-enforced walls he protected himself with.

The exercise continued for at least fifteen minutes, words of encouragement falling from Dr. Madden's lips once Gabe had picked up the pattern and was confident enough to breathe on his own. His eyes reluctantly opened, squinting as if expecting the worse, but he was met only with the doctor's face flooding into his field of vision, a smile of satisfaction and comforting brown eyes assisting him in feeling relief.

"I'm sorry." Gabe said—or, more truthfully, sighed—finally, humiliated and remorseful.

"It's completely fine, Gabriel." Dr. Madden replied breezily, honest and like it was the most common thing in the world, which, for him, might be true, actually. The thought wasn't a very comforting one and Gabe dismissed it quickly. "How 'bout we try to get up, okay?"

The teen scrambled up and the doctor grabbed at his forearm to help him pull himself up. They steadily sat him back into the computer chair so he could sit still and blink away the dizziness.

"Are you alright?" Madden inquired, attempting to catch his eye and his voice pitched to professional concern.

Gabe nodded and stared at the floor, scrubbing a hand down his face and through his hair wearily.

"I think we should wrap up this meeting for today, and schedule the next for this Thursday. I'd like to try something else, if that's alright with you, and we can sift through some options for non-medicated treatments and clarify your diagnosis. It was great to meet you, Gabriel, and I know I can help you if you trust me." They shook hands once again and Madden ignored the tremor emanating from the boy's palm. "I'll walk you out. Can you stand?" The last bit was said softly, as if the doctor was trying to minimalize it, but the concern was real.

"Yeah, I can—" Gabe began, but nearly choked on the breath that caught in his throat. Burning brightly, but dwindling, behind Dr. Madden was _her_.

And she was angry.

Her blue eyes glistened with tears and the pupils held the weight of disappointment. Her brow was fixed defiantly and her lip in a light snarl, but not so much. Just barely. Almost imperceptibly. Her mute mouth stayed shut and Gabe waited for her to speak in frozen transfixion. His anxiety was spiking high but he remained.

Then, while he watched in horrified awe, she narrowed her eyes. Despicable. She peered through him and nothing about was private anymore. He was exposed and judged. She would never forgive him from this act of betrayal.

"Gabe?"

He looked up at Dr. Madden, panic-filled eyes registering him and mouth stretching to a tight line. He already knew that she'd dissapeared.

"Y-yes, let's go." He said brusquely, getting up from the chair as quickly as possible and starting an unsteady but brisk walk out of the door and to the waiting room.

Dan was reading _Highlights _when Gabe caught sight of him and raised his head from the magazine as the door slammed shut.

"How'd it go?" The father quipped, but Gabe pivoted past the chairs and headed for the front door, needing to be away from everything and... And... Just wanting to go _home_. Neither could Dan know about the meeting, nor would he talk about it anyway. He just couldn't do any of this right now. He had to think.

He made it to the car and used his spare key to open his door. He waited a full ten minutes before Dan came out of the building and unlocked the entire car to get inside.

Madden must have told him to take it easy on Gabe, as he couldn't tell him any of the events that take place in their one-on-one time. This would worry his father, but he wouldn't ask.

"Is everything okay?"

Well, there's one thing he _would_ ask.

"I don't wanna talk about it, alright?" Gabe mumbled, his head dropping into his hands, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"We've scheduled a second appointment this Friday." He said, colorlessly but not necessarily in a dejected way. Not yet.

The entire rest of the ride home, neither spoke a word.

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><p>Ugh, man that was long. But did you guys like? Eh? Tell me what you think in a review, or any ideas you have, or criticisms, or if you just wanna say hey, I'm all for. But about the ideas, I would actually really love to hear some, they are very helpful to the writing process, and kinda helps me flow my imagination into writing by slowing me down and discussing it. Its awesome for the creative process.<p>

Love you guys! See you in the reviews! And, as always, thank you so much for reading!

~Em


	7. Chapter Seven: Wahnsinn

**Falling Slowly**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: not mine.<p>

Notes: Hey, guys, do y'all remember that one girl who's writing that hella sad N2N AU about Gabe being in Diana's place in the story and is otherwise an extremely forgetful and neglectful person when it comes to updating her story? I _hate_ that chick! You know, the one who hasn't posted another chapter in almost three months? Yeah, the one who writes moderately short chapters even when she's trying to get her readers to forgive her. _What a bitch_. Ohhhhh. wait. Wait, you guys. Wait. Wait. Wait. That's me.

Thank you as always for the reviews, I seriously love you guys for being so patient with me and so nice about it. All of my love to each and everyone one of you, whatever that's worth to you now.

[Look, Percy. I fucked up.]

Warnings for... Um, cynicism? And language, even though Natalie isn't even in this chapter. She's rubbing off on me, I know. And, um... Teacher-hating? Depression and bipolar disorder and various other things related to mental illness, but I'd hope you guys were already expect that one... Hypnosis? If that's a warning? I don't know, guys, it makes _me _uncomfortable for some reason.

Please enjoy this next installment.

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><p>Chapter Seven: Wahnsinn<p>

The bell rung sharply, but shortly, to signal the end of the class period and Gabe grabbed the handle to his heavy, textbook-laden backpack by instinct. Instead of running out of the classroom as fast as his feet would carry him (which he sort of currently felt the need to do) to the next class, he sat back and watched the other seniors barrel towards the exit and cram through the doorway. Gabe was never an extremely punctual person, and swimming in the mass of students eager to get out of this hellhole wasn't very high in his to-do list. He didn't like crowds as a rule. Something to do with the air, he thinks. Too many people surrounding him is something he naturally doesn't jump into head first. Best to avoid the discomfort he's able to avoid. Crowded hallways, on the other hand, were inevitable.

Once the room was nearly as perpetually hollow as his heart felt, he rose from his chair and slung the bag around his left shoulder, running a hand through his thick, sandy-brown locks. He hasn't been getting enough sleep lately and he knows it, not since he's started seeing Dr. Madden regularly nearly three weeks previous. Gabe blinked tiredly, and began to walk, trying to clear his mind with a shake of the head. While he rubbed his eyes, someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

His assigned desk was at the back of the room, and right near his teachers' desk which was all kinds of pain for totally disclosed reasons, and by the time he'd turned his head and registered who it was that was had stopped him, he silently cursed the unfortunate circumstance for the umpteenth time that year.

Now, this probably isn't what you're expecting. No, it isn't that Ms. Johnston, Gabriel's Honors English teacher, is a cruel women who has an unprovoked, unfair, fiery hatred for him, as the cliché goes. She actually _loves_ him. For a women with scattered standards and a knack for generally disliking and patronizing most of her students it could be considered a miracle that Gabe didn't fall into the majority. What, with the trouble he has coping in every-day life, it's impressive he stills has the will to deal with her. But she's just so damn _annoying_. And, with the rest of the school year until her imminent retirement, you'd think she'd at least be a decent teacher. The thing is; she is horrible, and every student of hers knows it. If she weren't so damn good at hiding her inadequacies he might not have to see her every other day for an hour and a half and, in turn, not feel like he's screaming when the bat decides it's time to give a '_lecture_.' At least he has half of a mind not to truly let her get to him.

Unfortunately, fatigue has a way of deviating Gabe's endurance into mismanagement. Usually, at the most inopportune times.

"Gabriel, before you go," she gave him her thick, slightly-yellowed, needle-point smile and he schooled his features. Schooled enough for respect, but he still couldn't keep the weariness out of his eyes. "I just wanted to point out to you how much I _enjoyed_ you're poem." She drawled, tongue stuck in a strange and annoying twang. Pennsylvanian or Upstate Virginian, by fact, but Gabe doesn't linger, nor lean towards the latter by evidence of the Pittsburg football paraphernalia that littered her desk. How the hell did she end up all the way on the west coast, anyway?

He shrugged out of her irksome touch, thankful at least he hadn't flinched on square one, in advance to replying. He then put on a smile so forced it looked like it was painful. "Hey, thanks, Ms. Johnston, listen I have t–"

The woman was quick to interrupt. "You're an _excellent_ writer, and I was very impressed this time around." Gabe's fists clenched. Oblivious, she patted him against the arm in a form of praise. He wished people would stop touching him so much. It'd never been a problem before, but since recently, the feeling of someone's hands on him no matter the intention has been seriously vexatious. Someone else's touch would no longer comfort him, put him at ease... It was a lost cause.

Her behavior and his concealed irritability, as well as time to get to AP History running out, combined to result in the steady rise of his manic temper. His emotions and atmosphere blended like the colors of mixing paint, leaving him with a pretty fucking ugly color to paint with. And since he was functioning without the aid of all his medication, these emotions were hard to control and, yes, a lot harder to hide. "You've improved since the beginning of the year, and compared to the rest of you're class, oh, especially _compared to the freshman class_–"

Gabe stole a glance at the clock. Natalie had been in her ninth grade class awhile back, he remembers vaguely, and she despised it for the duration of both semesters. She laughed at his expense the summer afternoon they'd figured out he'd have Johnston for Honors this year, and hasn't stopped feeling snide about it since.

Now, it wasn't rare Gabe'd stop listening soon after his teacher began speaking, but more commonly he'd have the opportunity to do it during the class period, not when he _should_ be on his way to study hall and he's trying to disentangle himself from the confines of her attention. The hallways were already clearing out and he had to go upstairs and all the way into the parallel hall to get to his next classroom. He'd have to think of a way to escape from her and the unwanted praise. His fried mind often failed to keep pace with what he prioritized.

"Listen, Ma'am–" his hands extended to a point above her shoulders, securely for space and the chance to exit her heed of him. "I really appreciate it, but I need to get to my next class, so..."

It seemed to take her a moment to register what he'd said. Then, when she finally did, she nodded vigorously in agreement. "Alright, alright. Do you need me to write you a pass?"

"You know, I'm okay, actually. I'll just run out of here. You have a nice day." And with that he began pacing back to the door.

"You do, too!" She replied with enthusiasm, smiling in awe of the politeness of Gabe's demeanor and completely unaware, as usual, of his true thoughts about her.

Gabe readjusted the backpack on his shoulder, took a deep breath, and stepped through the doorway.

–:():-:():-:():-:():-:():-:():–

Did you know that time passes especially slowly when all you do is stare at the hands of a clock? Gabe new that. He was taught that in the third grade when a substitute teacher took over and supervised the last few hours of his class one day late in the month of May. These were the few hours of class Gabe dreaded every single day of elementary school because every day, without fail, when the end of school was so close yet so distinctly far away, he would lose the battle of boredom and resort to tapping his feet or fumbling with his pencil or scooting in his seat until the bell rang and he was free to go home. It had always been a constant struggle and that day, his impatience could not fuel his inhibition. That day he was caught having an intense staring contest with the bold letters around that white circle on the cement wall, and he was reprimanded by none other than aforementioned Mr. Substitute.

_Time only goes slower when you stare at it like that all day, you know. _The teacher had told him this off-handedly, a lilt in his voice and walking back to the front of the class, continuing the English lesson Mrs. Pope started.

Little Gabe's eyes had fixed on the man's back quizzically as he walked off, filled with disbelief. Back then, he had the tendency to take things more literally than meant, and for the rest of the class period he made an effort to keep himself from watching the moving hands, looking at everything and anything else in the room besides the clock in the hopes of minimizing the amount of time he'd have to remain squirming in his seat, waiting. Since then, he's realized that time doesn't actually go by faster if you force yourself not to look; you just don't have any reference for the amount of time that's passed when you do. It sounds a little melancholy, a little depraved even depending on the circumstances, but he of all people new that the benefits almost always outweighed the drawbacks when you deceived your own mind.

And yet, today, there he was, gazing at the face of the clock on his kitchen wall in his home, wondering how long he could feel so continuously empty and so not able to do a damn thing about it. When you felt as low as Gabe did today and had absolutely no justification for spontaneous depression besides that you had an unjustifiable mental illness, you could give two shits about some third grade rule of thumb.

He must have finished every single chore in the grand list of chores by now, save for, he doesn't know, _retiling the roof?_ He'd mopped the floors, washed the dishes, wiped down the tables, picked up the living room, vacuumed the carpet, and washed the same dishes a second time (you know, just to be safe) for the sole purpose of passing the time until his Dad got home and he'd be taken to an appointment, his third week of therapy with Dr. Madden.

Honestly, if you asked Gabe, he'd tell you that there's been no improvement since his first meeting, though Madden insists in the reliability that there has been. Honestly, since the first meeting, most of his symptoms have been getting worse. His mood swings are still frequent and unprovoked, he's having even more trouble concentrating on school work, and all of it is detrimental to his depressive state, which by the way, is even more severe than he can remember it being for a long time. The only thing that hadn't gotten more horrible than usual are his delusion which he supposed if anything he should be thankful for, but the bad has a tendency to outweigh the good every time Gabe sets it up to scale. He doesn't like to think about it much. In retrospect, maybe retiling the roof isn't such a bad idea.

It was at least twenty minutes later when Gabe finally heard the sound of keys jingling in the lock of the front door. He had retired on the couch, laying on his side and holding a throw pillow to his chest. He loosened his grip a bit at the sound and raised his brows to a slant, half-closed eyes widening and blinking. Dan called his name after the door opened and he stepped through, before he removed the key and closed it behind him.

"Here." Gabe answered, making his presence known on the couch without shifting. It had been weeks since Dan had come home smiling, so Gabe tried his best not to feel guilty about the way his dad's face faltered once he saw his son, stepping in front of him and setting his briefcase next to the coffee table. His voice was light when he spoke, the way it gets when Gabe has an episode or looks especially catatonic. Every time.

"Is everything okay?"

Gabe put the pillow aside and stretched to sit up, hands bracing himself below him. He avoided his father's eye. "Yeah, fine." He lied, feet finally on the floor and a hand reaching up to run through his hair, which was less of a habit and more of a calming pattern in moments of interaction with another person. A routine in self-consciousness to keep a grip on things. It didn't work very well, yet for one reason or another he couldn't shake it. A thought arose from some grey depth in Gabe's mind, something he'd learned in some class or another, maybe even a therapy session from many, many years ago. It was Einstein's definition of insanity. Now, usually Gabe isn't the guy to remember any fact academically related to Einstein, but for obvious reasons this one had stuck out to him. _Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results_. Gabe made a face. Okay, it's possible he should just call it a compulsivity.

"Sorry I'm a little late." Dan said, scratching at the back of his neck. "We were slammed at work. Do you think you're ready to go soon?"

"Yeah." He sighed, blinking up at him with unusually dull blue eyes. _Yes, I've been waiting for you for hours _a testy voice in his head snapped, but even his anger had weariness and monotony sewn tightly in its seams, waiting with little interest for something to set it off again. For something, some emotion, any emotion, to take over Gabe's mind and heart, replacing his vacant body with some kind of life, some little ounce of spirit, of charge, however horrible the outcome or the circumstance. Anything to take him over besides this lifeless, cold, empty indifference.

"Alright, good." Dan craned his head around to look at the base of the stairs. "Have you seen your sister?"

"No. She's not here... She's probably with Henry." The mild resentment Gabe would typically put in the syllables of his name were strangely absent, his voice void and emotionless.

If Dan noticed, he didn't make it look like it.

–:():-:():-:():-:():-:():-:():–

"Hypnosis?"

The look on Gabe's face was skeptical, his brows drawn dubiously. The inflection in his voice was almost humored. Madden extended a hand, hovering it over his desk to reassure his patient, followed by other hand gestures assisting him through his speech.

"Gabe, it's been almost four weeks, and we've still yet to break through to the roots of your depression," Gabe exhaled heavily but slowly through his nose, leaning back just a little and pressing a hand to his lips. "The reason your mother's still around." His eyes flicked up almost imperceptibly to the doctors face. Madden took a willful breath. "So I'd like to start something new today, sometimes... When these stories are hard to tell, hypnosis _can _be helpful."

Gabe chuckled a bit dryly, "Sorry, but um, I don't think I could be hypnotized. It's fine, but I'm just... Not the type."

"Feet on the floor," Madden said kindly, pointing with his hands clasped together. Gabe hesitated, then relented, uncrossing his legs and sitting up straight, placing his feet flat upon the carpet. "Hands in your lap," the doctor prompted again, and Gabe, after sending a glance at him, followed instructions exaggeratedly, showing Madden exactly where his hands were going, palms facing him before landing against his legs. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what Dr. Madden would do of he didn't cooperate, what tactic would he take next, or if would he just force him to follow through regardless of his refusal. Though he doubted that would actually happen, the thought was gone before Madden could utter the final direction. "And breath, just relax."

Gabe inhaled, dropped his shoulders, then exhaled once again, looking at the doctor smugly.

"Great," Madden allowed, "Close your eyes. Good. Now, walk with me."

"Walk?"

"Yes," his voice was steady and lulling "walk with me. Walk with me down a long flight of stairs... with each step you take you are getting closer to the end, walk step by step, each step you take it's getting darker and—"

"Then we should turn on a light," Gabe suggested, not quite getting what the doctor was trying to do, mildly entertained with himself, but as he cracked his eyes back open he could see that Dr. Madden wasn't very charmed. "You know, with the stairs." He added, his voice dulling out.

"Walk with me, down a...hall," Madden tried once again, and Gabe sighed before letting his eyes slip shut. "As you walk, you find that this hall is familiar to you... Keep walking..." During every pause, Gabe noticed his body relaxing more and more, going stiller yet looser, picturing the hallway in his house that led to his dad's room. He tapped his pointer finger against his knuckle. "At the end of the hall you find a door... This is a door that you have never seen in your life until now... Don't be afraid. Reach out... and open the door... Then, calmly... step inside."

Something not necessarily physical released inside of Gabe, and his fingers went lax. Moments of absolute silence passed peacefully.

"Can you hear me, Gabe?" Madden said, his voice keeping the same soothing tone to it, perhaps just a little more reserved. A beat.

"Yes," he replied. He was surprised by the way his mouth and jaw glided, moving effortlessly to make words. The way his voice, however monotonous, was calm and drawn out. His limbs felt soft and distant, but still there. It was a feeling akin to floating in water.

Madden waiting a few seconds before speaking once again.

"Are you nervous?"

Gabe felt more than heard the touch of concern in Dr. Madden's careful question. "No," he answered, quietly, and was caught off guard to find that he really wasn't. At all.

"Good," Dr. Madden replied just as quietly. "Now, I want to you to do something for me. I want you to look into your past. You're strong enough to explore the room that you've just opened. Look around and tell me what you see."

Gabe hesitated a moment. "I see... My family."

"Who in your family?" Madden asked, and the question was undoubtedly deliberate.

"My dad... My mom, and my sister."

Madden nodded, though Gabe couldn't see. That was a positive sign. "Very good. Tell me about them."

"Tell you what?" Gabe asked, wanting the request to be clarified. The question required more lucidity than what Dr. Madden required for the hypnosis, so he put even more ease in his next words, encouraging Gabe to relax fully.

"Tell about what they feel."

"My mom and dad... They love each other. They... met in college and they had me. They got married and had Natalie a few years later and... We were so happy. My dad works in stocks and my mom stayed home with us when she wasn't with her doctor... She loved us so much but..." He paused, then changed direction. "My dad worried about her. He worried about her all the time, but it was okay because he... He loved her. He loved all of us. It just makes sense. It _all_ made sense until she... U-until—" his voice upturned with uncertainty, and he raised one of his hands to his forehead in distress, letting the other one clench in his lap.

"Until?" Dr. Madden prompted.

He shook his head, whether is was from refusal or confusion neither was sure.

"Gabe, don't lose your grip on this now." Madden instructed softly, but with much more urgency than before.

"I-I don't—" Gabe stuttered, both hands grasping at his skull, the tension returning to his muscles rapidly.

"You have to admit the things you've lost, Gabe, to ever be able to let them go."

"I miss her." He whispered.

"You need to tell your story, Gabriel. If you tell your story, you own it." Madden promised. "If you don't, you keep it hidden... It owns you."

"I—"

"What's your story, Gabe?"

Against the rising turmoil in Gabe's stomach, he began speaking. He licked his lips. "She... I tried to help her. I really tried... But she was... She was so depressed. The way my dad looks at me, the way my sister looks at me... They know, I'm just like her." His voice raised steadily in volume. "They know I can't let anything go. They know I'm falling! And I know I'm dragging them down with me!" His eyes were now open, and they were fixed upon the doctor, helplessly, hysterically.

_You're a burden. A nutcase. A problem._

Madden held out his hands, gesturing firmly. His voice has regained the natural, yet authoritative, timbre. "Let's try to understand what all this is doing to you. And your family. Your grief for your mother. Your distance from your father."

_It's so fucked up! We can't _live _like this! _Any _of us! No one can _live _like this!_

Gabe looked away, eyes clenched shut in concentration, trying to will away desperate tears. His ears are ringing.

_She's not here._

The doctor continued. "Depression is a response to past loss, and anxiety is a response to future loss. The more you hold on to something you lost, the more you fear losing it."

_Make up your mind._

Gabe chewed at his lip, the sick feeling in his intensities growing by the second.

_I know you know, Gabe._

"...depression, anxiety..."

_You just got lost for a second._

He breathed in.

_You can expect this to just heal itself!_

"...depression, anxiety..."

_Open your eyes, dammit!_

And breathed out shakily.

_Drowning..._

"One gives rise to the other. It becomes a cycle."

_Is everything okay?_

He feels thoroughly sick now, and the feeling of revisiting this grief, regressing back to the state after he'd thought he'd passed it is crushing. He might throw up.

_Make up your fucking mind!_

"Wouldn't you like to be free from that finally?"

Gabe's ears are graced with a heavy silence. Slowly, carefully, he looked up at the man who has asked him the one thing he's always known was impossible.

"Wouldn't you like to go home," he continued gently, "look through your mother's things, spend some time with your father and sister... And _let her go _at last?"

Gabe waited, eyes flicking over the doctor's face in disbelief. When he finally processed that loaded question, he couldn't believe how simple was the answer. When he _finally_ spoke, it was as if all the grief and misery of a life spent after his mother's tragedy, all of the guilt built up from years of therapy, spilled out in his breathless declaration.

"_Yes_."

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><p>So, as you can see, this was <em>Make Up Your MindCatch Me I'm Falling _and it was very difficult to think up. I tried the best I could to de-musicalify it with it still having a similar context to the original with Diana, yet was also in line with what I've already said about Gabe in this story. Not that that's anything of an excuse for an overdue chapter because I have no excuse. I am truly sorry for that.

So after that chapter...You all know what's coming next. Or you should know. _I Dreamed a Dance_ and _There's a World._ I might not have the heart to writ— ah... Who am I kidding? I have no heart.

It's not like I deserve it, but I would love to hear your lovely voices in some reviews, and, like I've mentioned before but you suddenly have a completely justified reason for now, you can flame my ass all the way to the firestation about my awfulness.

Thank you so much reading always and your patience, I love you all! Review please!

~Em


	8. Chapter 8: Box Cutter

**Falling Slowly**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: N'mine.<p>

Notes: Hello! How is everyone? Thank you for the reviews of course, my lovely readers, and please review to leave me some words if you're a reader and you haven't yet. Remember, you don't need to have an account. As much as I love A/Ns, I'm gonna have to keep this one short and sweet because it's late and my body is begging me for sleep. Thanks so much for your patience in updates!

**MAJOR ARCHIVE WARNING: This chapter is rated for its mentions of familial death, mental illness, self-hatred themes, language, self-harming, suicidal thoughts as well as a non-explicit suicide attempt with some following graphic imagery. If this bothers or triggers you, please heed my warning. **

Ah. So, yeah. It's come to this chapter... Please send a review my way about what you think, because I kind of did this chapter in pieces, due to lack of motivation in some parts and extreme motivation in others. Apologies for any confusion or inconsistency. Thank you so much for reading, and as always, enjoy!

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><p>Chapter Eight: Box Cutter<p>

Explaining what the doctor had suggested Gabriel do with his father was an excruciating experience, for more reasons than the obvious. It was the way he looked at him, it had to be the way Dan looked at him, that was so uncomfortable because Dan thought Gabe was getting so much better. That he was so far past her. Really, ever since he had signed him up with Dr. Madden he'd believed things were finally going in a completely different direction. He'd put so much faith in Dr. Madden. But he'd agreed... Good god, at least he'd agreed with him. When they got back to the house, Dan immediately suggested they go at it right away. That's when the reality of the situation crashed down on the two of them both. A heady silence passed and Gabe resorted to letting the words he needed to say out.

He insisted this was something he needed to do alone. It was clear, has been made clear countless times that the only way to get over any of his problems was to face them himself, by himself, head on. He's made the mistake of depending on someone else to fix this for him too many times in the past and he's learned his lesson. He doesn't need anyone else to be his crutch. Not anymore.

The man had been adamant for a while, a father wanting to be there for his son and needing to ensure that after all this time they could finally just move on. But Gabe's newfound insight was just as stubborn and eventually Dan understood that they're was no other way past it. They would do it Gabe's way, or no way at all. Although, by the end of it, both sides felt guilty for reasons that completely contradicted each other and shared regret.

But that was just how it had to be left, for now at least, in Dan's bedroom of that he used to share with _her._ Dan'd cut open the tape-sealed, nameless box underneath the bed, remembering the dark day he'd sealed it in the first place, stuffing her most potent, painful belongings into a plain container, a place where they could be forgotten but not lost, no, that's not something he had the power or the heart to do, shoved underneath her side of the bed, never to be touched again. Well, until now.

Steeling himself, he turned to face his son, whose heart was already in his throat and desperately tried to appear calm in this uneasy situation. There was that damn silence again...

Eventually, after it had dragged on for way to long than he was willing to permit, Gabe broke the silence in order to kindly ask him to leave. Give him the time in complete solitude. Assured him that he could take it from here. Dan acquiesced, but before going he stepped in front of his son.

"This is good, Gabe..." He promised. There was something more hidden in his face that said something different. Hesitance, maybe. Or doubt, which was way worse. Gabe wished he didn't have to always see it, or maybe that his dad wouldn't always make it so god damn obvious. Dan grabbed his arm and handed him the box. "This is a good step."

Gabe nodded, a little half-heatedly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and carefully took the box from his father. A good step? He just hoped it was the right move.

He listened for Dan's footsteps to fade away behind him after his highly-anticipated departure, waiting for the door to shut completely, because he had the inkling suspicion that his father might try to linger just on the outside of the doorframe, just so he could be there if something went wrong. Gabe knows he should be able to trust him a little more than that, but his moral judgement when it comes to his dad honestly wasn't at the top of his list of priorities at the moment. It was only when the door had closed completely and the heavy pads of boots on carpet became nothingness that he could let his guard down.

And that he did. He forced his shoulders to relax, taking a deep, strengthening breath that only shook for a second before he blew it out, filling and releasing his lungs and trying to let go of some tension. It will be hard—very, very hard, but he _is_ going to do this. This is a fight he can't back down from.

He sat down on the foot of the bed, setting the box in his lap, and reached a trembling, hesitating hand to the first cardboard flap on it, and lifted it slowly.

The first thing Gabe focused on in the dissarray of contents inside that box was a glass bottle of perfume. He froze, thinking about reaching for it and taking a whiff but uncertain if he should go there, at least not so soon. I mean, sorting through clothes and pictures was one thing, but this thing may or may not be attributed to the manifestation of her that he's built up over the years after her death. What would happen if he recognized the scent? Anything, really, anything could happen.

After several more moments' hesitation, he at least picked it up, deciding against his gut-feeling and wrapping his fingers around the cool, half-empty glass carefully. Gabe rubbed the bulbousness of it with his thumb, contemplating. He had a firm idea of what the perfume smelled like, and he was worried for how right he could be, afraid that he'd be revisited by the memories of his delusions. Afraid that they would be on point. Even still, he raised the nozzle to his nose, unable to live with the curiosity of whether or not he remembered her scent.

The answer was yes. Yes, his delusions had been very on point and it was honestly shocking how well he had remembered this exact perfume, but he was not assaulted with a sense of despair, of fear, or even of grief. Just heavy nostalgia, and a deep sense of family. Something about this, perhaps his calm reaction, was incredibly reassuring, and he set the bottle beside him to continue his rummaging.

The next thing he picked up was an envelope, and inside was a little stack of photos. He set that aside, promising he'd get back to it at the right time. Under the photos was a jewelry box, the lid of which was a beautifully carved chestnut-colored wood, in a floral pattern. He picked up the box, and lifted up the lid to look inside. There were rings and necklaces and bracelets and earrings strewn across the dark-green velvety floor. He ran his fingertips against it, the soft fabric of it's bedding very comforting, and he was reminded of times he used to do this when he'd wander into his parents' room to watch his mother put on her make-up and jewelry at the dresser in the evenings. She'd always smile at him, primping herself idly as he reached on his tippy-toes to luxuriate in the feel of the bottom of that box, and ask him which earrings he preferred on her, the rubies or the gold hoops. Gabe liked the rubies.

This was another memory that caused no pain, only happiness and a warmth blooming in his chest. He pinched a single one of those same ruby earrings, laying alone against the green bedding, and smiled to himself. So many bad things had taken the ample space of his memory that he'd forgotten all of the nice, fond things in his childhood. All the important things.

A strong, dusty smell of copper emanated from the box, and some of the older necklaces were tangled in one another hopelessly. One necklace stuck out, however, a locket in the far corner, so Gabe picked it up to inspect. For some reason, he felt like it was significant. He took a long look at the charm, a gold oval about the size of his thumbnail, searching his memory of life before his illness to see if he could recall it. It took a few moments, Gabe biting his lip in concentration, before it finally clicked.

His mother used to wear all the time ever since he could remember when she was still alive. He remembered sometimes when she was tired or looked sad she would reach up and rub her fingers against it, and it seemed to bring her some peace. And he remembered that sometimes, when she forced herself to down the pills she took in the morning and still felt half-dead with depression and thought her son didn't notice any of the above, she would open it up and stare at the pictures in the tiny frames. And smile, just a little. Gabe's eyes flashed at the memory. He also remembered that he'd never known what those pictures were.

The impulse to check was far too strong to deny. He fingered the clasp carefully, like a child snooping through something they're not supposed to, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world and if he broke it everything would be over. After a few moments his small ministrations had willed the locket opened, pulled apart lightly by his worried fingers. He didn't know why seeing what the inside of this locket kept had so much meaning to him all of the sudden, but it just did and he _would_ find out.

He'd actually half expected the pictures on both sides of the interior to be what they were. However, that didn't stop his heart from lifting. One of them, the one of the left, was a picture of him when he was a toddler. Bright blue eyes and a bright blue shirt to compliment them, a smile that was missing one or two baby teeth and hair that was much more blonde and soft than it is now. The picture embodied his happiness and innocence, and Gabe wondered when he'd changed so drastically. Nevermind, he knew. That youth, that quiescent...that wasn't him. That was the purely the past, a shadow of himself that he couldn't dream of ever getting back. But to know that his mother, his real mother, not the delusion, had carried this around her neck and close to her heart always in her lifetime meant something so much more.

The other picture, the one on the right, increased the sentiment. It was a picture of Nattie, a few weeks old, if that. Her eyes were squinted and a brown tuft of hair sprouted out of the top of her head. She was wrapped up in a blanket and a hand supported her chest. Gabe recognized it as their father's hand. Both of the pictures were obviously taken with a home camera, maybe even a disposable one, but if anything that made them mean more. It made the moments they captured more geniune.

It took him a moment to realize it, but he eventually caught himself smiling widely. It was strange. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this, a dream-like emotion and warmth that only comes from the love you feel within the unity of family. He'd felt a small taste of it just before everyone had sat down for dinner on the night when things got bad again. He hasn't felt it in a long time, didn't think he'd be complete enough to experience it ever again. And maybe he was right. Maybe this is the last time he'll feel this kind of love, as he let's go of her forever. Maybe things can never be right again. Maybe the pain and isolation will never go away.

No.

_No._

Gabe has to believe in a good future. A _healthy_ future. What's awful, what's so horrible about it is that deep down Gabe knows, has always known, that the way he's been living is unhealthy. That it's destroying him. But happiness, even false happiness, or the promise of love and safety...it's addicting. Like a drug, and you know it's terrible, and you try and you _try _to stay away from it, but you can only try so hard—can only hold off for so long before the need drives you half-insane and you can't stop yourself from reaching out and _grabbing_.

He _knows_ he's ruining himself.

But this type of thing, love and happiness, it isn't a thing that's suppose to hurt you. It's the type of thing that's suppose to save you. _That's_ what makes his situation so uniquely awful. A need like this is primal, something humans have known subconsiously for the whole run that they could always depend on, that they need to survive. So, then tell me, how could he possibly give it up? If an instinct like this was so natural, so intrinsic, why should he dismiss it?

_Because it's wrong _a voice in his head shouted at him, the one part of his mind that had always known the truth, the one that couldn't be swayed by the temporary comfort of hallucination. So much of him didn't want to believe it, but it was true. Grief was a human instinct too, a necessary, primitive emotion. Gabe couldn't deny that fact, and so he shouldn't deny the emotion itself as a component to his life. He has to cut the strings, sever the links to her, and even though he feels like he's grieved enough over the loss, that he's suffered enough pain for her, like he'll be completely alone once he's let her go, he knows he needs to finally let himself be alone in it before the mourning can finally pass. After all, what always comes after grief... is acceptance.

Although, this didn't stop him from closing the locket and slipping it into the front pocket of his jeans for safe keeping.

Laying on the bottom of the box were stacks of her old clothes, and a bag of hair clips and bobby pins and the sorts, depressed by the heavy jewelry box that must have been setting on top of it for more than a decade. He picked up a shirt or two, running his fingers against the cotton fabric, and set the bag to the side. Other small objects were in abundance inside the box, but he could already tell none of them were very important to him. Not like the locket or the rubies. Eventually, he decided to go back to the photos resting beside his left thigh.

He opened the flap and pulled out the stack of pictures inside the envelope, pinching the edges of the whole lot of it with his thumb and forefingers.

The first one, the one on the very top, was a picture of his mother and father. And a tiny bundle in his mother's arms. They were sitting on the old couch that Dad threw out what must have been eight years ago, a forest-green polyester lazyboy Gabe personally thought was much more comfortable than the one they had now. Mom was smiling brightly, and Dad was no different, gazing down at the tiny face peeking out with a tiny hand to follow it, reaching out from inside that white bundle of blankets. Gabe probably took longer than necessary when studying his mother's face, which was youthful and clear and _happy_. So, so happy, they were both simply overjoyed to be with each other and with a newborn child in their arms. Their child. _Him_.

Yes, that was definitely him. They were so young back then when she gave birth to him, he knew that as a fact and could tell by the picture, so innocent and unsuspecting and both so very happy with life and for a second Gabe couldn't bear it. He wasn't sure what about it was so hard to acknowledge. It just wasn't right and he felt it ache deep in his heart. Something about the whole thing felt sick, whether it was the overwhelming amount of love surrounding these far off people from the past, or the fact that they would never get it back. Get _her_ back. The fact that this memory was as dead and buried as his mother.

Gabe shook his head, refusing to let himself go there. That wouldn't help anything. He's letting the thoughts erase him, letting them paint him black. He can't let them do that.

For a second, he pondered if doing what he was doing would actually help him, or if he'd fail and it would be pointless, that the doctor lied and he would never find closure. I mean, it's not like the bad thoughts will go away. They will _never_ go away, none of his symptoms, they'll just continue to vary from bad to really bad to worse. Then, what _was_ the point? To this, to anything? Is he just fooling himself again? Fooling himself, _always_ fooling himself into believing things are better than they are and ever will be, just like his father.

His father, who's never happy but desperately tries to appear so, but that was one of the few holy and horrible things that couldn't fool Gabe anymore. Or Natalie, for that matter.

He flipped the photo to the back of the stack hastily, disgruntled by his thoughts and frustrated with their reappearance, revealing the second one. It was a picture of him holding Nat, his mother leaning into the frame to kiss the top of his head. The next picture, after he flipped, had an older Natalie wrapped up in her mother's arms, pink sunglasses on the tip of her button nose, both of them reclining in a beach chair on the sand. This must have been when they had taken a trip west for the summer, which, from what Gabe remembered, was a very nice time. The idea was confirmed when Gabe flipped the picture again and the next one was a family portrait with Ant Rhonda, on her ranch in Southern California. Dad's arm was wrapped around Mom, the other hand set atop Gabe's head and a hint of a laugh in his eyes. Rhonda was holding Nattie on her hip and was wearing the smile that her and her brother both shared. The real one, not the one Dad faked all the time so his son would feel better. The one that told him things were really okay, and that they'll stay okay. The doubtless one. Gabe really missed that.

The following pictures were all quite different, but in each one the teenager found a common denominator. Dad and Mom, posing in front of a lake. Natalie and Mom, with Nat curled up into her chest, fast asleep, and Mom dosing. Gabe and Mom, him gazing into the blue-light tank of a giant aquarium somewhere in Oregon, his small finger pointing at one of the larger fishes and pure wonder in his eyes. Mom, looking down at her son lovingly, taking it in. Mom holding the few weeks old kitten they adopted from the shelter thirteen years ago, much before it's untimely death by accidental parking. Mom sunbathing. Mom and Dad dancing. Mom laughing. Mom, mom, every single one, was mom. All of these pictures, filled with beautiful memories and wonderful family moments, hidden away for years just because they had her in them. And Gabe was so angry.

How could Dan do this? Why would he ever put these pictures, these heart-warming memories, in a cold box to collect dust? Who gave him the right to do that?Just because they had more meaning, because they had a stronger pull, does not mean he's allowed to banish them. Where were these pictures when Dad drove them home from the funeral twelve years ago? Where were these pictures when he woke from nightmares in the middle of the night, screaming for his mother to be okay during the first few years that followed her death? Where were these pictures when he first started going to a professional psychologist? _Where_ were these pictures when Gabe was starting to get delusional at age ten, where were they everytime Dan had to sit him down at the table and break the news to him, have to look at the disappointment in his father's eyes, over and over and endlessly when nothing ever worked to stop the delusions in the first place? Where the _fuck_ were they when Dan couldn't see past his brick wall of personal denial, even when Gabe _fucking_ needed it!

How could he be so _selfish_?

Gabe unfurled his clenched fists, releasing the rage in his limbs and letting it settle in his chest, allowing the picture of Dad and Mom in front of the Christmas tree, now crumpled, fall from his hand to the floor without a sound. This was bringing awful memories to the forefront of his brain, the pain he and his family had to suffer after she left them. The loneliness Gabe felt as Dan started to detach. The guilt he felt for her death.

Guilt. Ah, yes. Guilt, the emotion he's always battled. Guilt, regret, sorrow, however you put it, it was there. The Moloch of mood, if mood wasn't Moloch itself. He just couldn't help but to feel like he could have saved her, that if he'd done everything right and loved her enough that it would have never happened and Gabe wouldn't be the fuck-up that he is now. That he wouldn't have made a mess of his relationships with his living family. That he would never bring them so much daily struggle.

But he has. And he hates himself for it, more than anything else, he hates what he is and what he's done to Natalie and his father. Look how happy they were. Look what it was like before. In these pictures.

_Your fault. _They said. _Always your fault. How could you be so ungrateful, continue to hurt them like this, when you're the reason it hurts in the first place?_

_Always your fucking fault. _

They were right. Pictures can't lie, can they? The past is gone, they'll never get a semblance of it back. They'll be whole again and it _is_ his fault, because he's the missing piece. The blemish. The one who can't finish the puzzle, no matter how hard he tries to look for the answer. He's the ugly duckling. The limitation. The defect.

He shouldn't have to put them through this anymore. It wasn't fair to them, never really has been, and he knows it. _He_ was the inadequacy.

He shouldn't be here.

_Burden. Nutcase. Problem. _

Gabe stood abruptly and began to pace, running worried hands through his hair. Steadily, he felt as every therapy, every repeated lesson in self-worth fly out the window and into the irretrievable abyss. Those didn't matter, because this was what had to be done. There wasn't any other option left for him. He felt the truth of it become more and more clear as the years of treatment left him.

He could feel her, too. Creeping along the doorway, waiting for him and watching him quietly.

Gabe just kept pacing.

_Burden. Nutcase. Problem._

It was true.

_Burden. Nutcase. Problem._

It was a mantra.

_Burden. Nutcase. Problem._

It almost put him at ease

_Burden. Nutcase. Problem._

Because it was a justification.

The words repeated in his head over and over again, until they became softer, sweeter, more feminine. Until they became her voice. He turned around to look at her, slowly and a little nervously, and she was just standing there, waiting for him to finally accept it. She was not being demanding or impetuous, in fact she looked like she was being quite patient with him. Waiting for confirmation.

This is something that Mom had been expecting from him.

Well then it has to be the right time.

With measured, careful steps, he approached her.

"You know what you have to do." She told him, kindly but sternly, just like the parent who reprimanded the small child when they needed to tell the truth or apologize for misbehaving.

a moment of silence dragged.

"I know," Gabe shut his eyes, and a single, unnoticed tear slipped down his cheek.

Her soft hands caressed him and wiped the tear away. "Hey. It's okay, honey. You'll be right here with me, and it's so beautiful. Trust me." She was smiling so sweetly when he opened his eyes again that he couldn't help but return it, a little sheepishly. She tipped his chin up when he had pressed it to his chest, inclining eye contact. Her expression was serious. "This is the right thing."

He nodded soberly, thinking of how much he loved his family and how much, above anything else, he wanted them to be happy. How that meant he needed to be out of the picture.

After a few moments, Mom's eyes softened again. Her features were gentle and loving, and so were her hands, incredibly so, as they stroked down the sides of his head and neck, eventually ending up at his forearms.

Gabe, deftly, watched her beautiful hands close around one of his upturned wrist, and then the other, warmth—heat spreading from her immaculate flesh to his in a drawn silence. But he felt at peace. He felt weightless. Numb, actually. It was liberating, not to feel. He wished that it could be like this forever and everything in her eyes promised it would be. He was free at last, free from all the pain. And Nat and Dad would be, too. At last. No one would have to suffer. He didn't even feel the pain of her leaving his field of vision once he'd started to stagger, or the ache in his temple when it collided with the ground, quietly, slowly, as if the world itself had stopped breathing, time's heart had stopped beating, just for a few moments, just for him.

He squeezed his right hand into a fist weakly, and felt the warmth of his mother's grip, the motherly touch he was starving for, swell and spread even more as he lay on the ground. It felt like acceptance, like the comfort he'd missed too much, soaking into him like the light of a fireplace on his skin. Finally, they were back on the same team, the one where they understood each other and she caught him whenever he fell. He was only slightly confused when he saw her standing above him, watching him with the twinkling eyes they also shared, and yet still could feel her grip on him. But it was alright. It was the type of confusion that is soon followed by trust, like the logical mind in the throes of a groundless, mad dream. He accepted it. He didn't have a choice.

Gabe's shoulders slumped, and he fell onto his back solidly, using the only energy he had left to squeeze the other fist. There was a heavy object held between his fingers that he had only just noticed, and he was mildly surprised that he couldn't recount it's arrival in his hand in the first place. He was too weak to lift his head and inspect, even when he really had no clue what it could be. It's not like it mattered now.

That same warmth touched his hip, soaking his shirt in its liquidification and he wondered when his mother's touch had turned to water. However his curiosity was completely depleted when he looked back to her, and watched her face and the bright, kind smile that inched onto it slowly. She was smiling so broadly at him. _For him_. Happiness washed over him like a wave of an ocean not unlike what was pooling around him now, and he heard the faint clunk of that object falling from his palm onto the hard floor as he let his fist release, embracing the weakness he felt in his fingers, his arms, his entire body. He wasn't afraid. His mind was foggy and he felt cold but he was not afraid, how could he be? Her loving smile held all the warmth he could ever need, and he knows he'll never have to part with it again as Mom started to speak to him, about how proud she was of him, and about taking him along so he could be with her forever. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the vague notion that he was draining. _Not drowning... Draining. There's a difference._

Other faint noises followed the first ones in his choice, muffled hearing, sporadic in their birth and more so in their death so Gabe's sluggish mind was having trouble connecting them to each other. He heard the slightest sound of footsteps, a short knocking, a small, almost chimerical-sounding kick, and then silence.

There was a light ringing in his ears by the time his body was becoming weaker and weaker, then went absolutely limp upon the floor. Spent, his head just lolled to the side so that it was facing the doorway and just then, just before his vision began to fade out, he caught a glimpse of a girl with tied-back hair. Her brown eyes were wide and her mouth wider. Gabe's lips quirked slightly, recognizing her dark eyes from those pictures he'd looked at not too long ago, the ones where all of them were so happy, and watched the textbook in her hands drop to the ground with a bang. With a tunnel remaining of his sight, he met those brown eyes and smiled the same contented, peaceful smile he'd meant to give to the women he was leaving with before he had so thoughtlessly turned away from her.

Well, unfortunately, Gabe's mind failed to recognize the look of abject horror on the girl's face, the petrification in her eyes. It was too late anyway. His dimming eyeballs rolled back into their sockets and his lids slipped shut.

There. He'd done it. Mom would be so proud of him, and that was the last thought in Gabe's mind, that his mother would be so pleased and she would love him so much for this. Finally.

Everything had gone black before he could even register the sound of his sisters' piercing scream.

-:():-:():-:():-:():-:():-

Natalie shrieked horribly, crying out in a shrill, warbling voice. She screamed for their father in pure panick. Her stomach was dropped to the floor and her heart beat in her throat. Tears rushed to her eyes, her knees went wobbly before they just gave out from beneath her, crippled by the terror of seeing her brother like this.

He was collapsed against the floor, pale, lifeless, hopeless. The sickening tang of blood permeated the air, and before looking away from the horrific scene, Nat had taken in enough to notice the old pictures strewn across the room, the harsh gashes excruciatingly placed on either of her brother's wrists with his life gushing out of them quickly, the pools of crimson widening by his sides, the hint of a smile on his lips, the most haunting thing of them all, really, as if he felt at peace...

And the red-tipped razor of the box cutter they'd used to opened Mom's things with, laying inches from Gabe's outstretched hand.

_ To Be Continued..._

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><p>Well, if you know the story, you know he's not dead. But this calls for some seriously dark research in the next couple of days, so bear with me and my half-reliable facts. It's a damn good thing people don't check my internet history.<p>

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it even if it was the darkest place that we have gone so far in this story. But, according to my calculations, if everything goes as planned, it is not the darkest place that this story will reach in the near future.

Please review, I love you all, now I am off to sleep as well as I possibly can before I'm awoken by my 5am alarm.

~Em


	9. Chapter 9: White Walls

**Falling Slowly:**

**written by Emily_Destler**

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><p>Disclaimer: Don't own it.<p>

Notes: I know. I haven't updated in months and I feel really bad about it. This chapter was written word by excruciating word and cut and switched around hundreds of times over, and the process was painfully slow. I apologize deeply for the trouble I've caused with such a cliff-hanger. As always, I thank you for your patience and your continuing to be loyal readers and reviewers, and not getting too upset at me. I think this installation is longer than usual, so please enjoy. Thank you so much for your support and being so wonderful.

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><p>Chapter Nine: White Walls<p>

**_Goodman, Gabriel, A._**

_**Discovered unconscious at home: multiple razor wounds to wrists and forearms; self-inflicted.**_

**_Current treatment:_**

**_• saline rinse_**

**_• sutures_**

**_• gauze_**

**_• antibiotics_**

**• IV**

**_Current state: Isolated, sedated, and restrained._**

**_ECT is indicated. _**

-:():-:():-:():-:():-:():-

Confusion. That was it; the first coherent thing in his head, the first feeling that he could place a name to. Everything was quiet—silent—but somehow loud. Like cupping your ears and hearing the swirl of an ocean inside your hands, but he wasn't cupping his ears, no. He couldn't feel his hands, or his ears, or his body. He was only just remembering he had a body.

It was like his whole self, the simple idea of him, was just now coming back to him and clicking into place. It was strange, but it also made perfect sense because that awareness is only something that comes to you after you spend so much time blissfully unaware of everything. However, this—the world that was steadily surrounding him—was so loud and so strange that he couldn't help but take notice of it.

Everything was dark and fuzzy in those first moment of consciousness, and you could bet he was just barely there, barely awake and weakly trying to make connections in his mind. It felt like his head was made of brick, heavy and dense. His brows furrowed slightly.

He was finally waking up.

The confusion, as it will, started doing it's job in blowing away the fog of nothingness in his head, filling it with a different one; a heavy fog of utter disorientation. Although, instead of lulling him into a blessed, dreamless state of unconsciousness that he has already spent an unidentifiable amount of time in, it did the opposite. It was rousing him, cruelly keeping him from once again succumbing to the dizziness and dibilitation that was so tempting and so peaceful. And, believe me, that melancholy state was much more preferable than what awaited him outside of it.

Everything was at once bright and bleary as he cracked opened his eyes. He did so cautiously, instinctively afraid of seeing whatever waiting for him outside for what felt like the first time in a lifetime. They struggled to focus, and it only made the confusion worse as he had no clue where he was. It was all so incredibly hard to put together and he couldn't remember why.

After a while, his vision and thoughts began to clear, to the point where he could just hardly make out some white, banded squares and a fluorescent light. The brightness of it made him blink and squint.

There was a sick feeling in his intensities that implied something was very wrong.

But his thoughts were slurred and blended together, making it nearly impossible to do anything rational or remember how he'd gotten here in the first place. However, the sound of them—the words of his thoughts—rang out like a distant bell from beneath the ringing and the white noise of which he couldn't decide was in his head or outside of it. Eventually, he could pick them out, try to make sense of his thoughts. Eventually, he understood the echo of their words.

_Where? _

_Where? Where am I?_

_ How? _

_Where is she? _

His stiff limbs wouldn't respond to the demands he sent them. His brain was telling them to move but they refused to and he couldn't understand. Why?

He felt frozen and there was terrifyingly nothing he could do about it.

He tried to move; he really did. But it was like he was paralyzed by some terrible weakness. Fear crept up along the sides of his mind, dark and threatening like a lethal smoke that filled his life-lungs. In addition, as if things couldn't get worse, _this—_the smoke—was the feeling that actually prompted somewhat of a proper reaction out of him, elevating his heart rate dramatically.

He eventually felt blood return to his nerves, warming his chilled body that he only just realized actually felt cold. I guess you could say that's what he felt as he regained circulation: warmth, but it really all started with a rumbling in his chest, the first movement he could pull off. Eventually, his diaphragm started to flutter and his upper body began making tiny lurches that increased in width and intensity by the second. His shoulders shook a bit, at first, and the coughing that immediately followed him regaining conscious control of his own breathing brought attention to a piece of rubbery plastic stuck past his mouth and down into his throat. God, it felt like he was being gagged. He choked past it pitifully.

This is when the real panic started to set in. It made his eyes blink and dart around rapidly, as if he was trying to take in everything tiny thing around him at once. He was just trying to understand what was happening, to feed the fear that only grew in him.

_Oh, god, what is this? _He thought.

His entire body felt cold and slightly numb when he regained actual mobility of it, which started with sluggish movement of his fingers and some other joints that were physically close to his brain.

He wanted to be free. He wanted to escape.

He needed to run.

Colors suddenly swam into his vision and two unfamiliar faces appeared from the blur. He flinched as a cold thumb pressed against the pulse point in his right forearm and a whole other hand to his left touched his shoulder. For just a second he noticed their lips moving, and he realized that they mouthed words and produced sounds that he could not comprehend.

He panicked.

These sluggish, clumsy movements that he started out with soon morphed into sharp, frenzied ones. His arms were bending and legs were kicking, fighting these people off and thrashing in their grip. He fought wildly. Every instinct, every nerve-ending he could feel at that particular moment, was telling him he needed to get away.

But there was something holding him down; distinctly not a someone, but a something. He writhed in whatever restriction held him. His arms jerked against the smooth, cool material of the bonds.

"...C-m d... Calm down... -ster Goodman, calm down, your perfectly safe, you just need to relax—" One of the nurses, a dark-skinned woman with her hair tied back and purple scrubs, held his arm in a cold hand while her voice finally reached him, just as his hearing finally cleared out. But he was gone from reason.

He pulled and pulled against the restraints, panick holding him in a vice so tight he could hardly breathe. It was hellish. It consumed him so throuroughly that he could only half-listen to the women speaking to him and to the rapid growth in pace with that strange beeping noise next to him.

His mind was in fight-or-flight mode, and somehow, someway, his body was trying to react simultaneously with both of the mechanisms. He wanted to fight just as much as he wanted to flee. He was practically animal in his panic, all at once a stuck pig, a wounded bird, and a deer in headlights. He just needed to _get away._ And _now_. He would have been screaming if he thought he could've.

His heart raced in his chest. He continued to struggle violently, fight wildly against the bonds.

_Let me go!_

"N-no!" He choked out past the tube the second he regained the power of speech. It sounded more like a weak, garbled mess than a word. He coughed again, and refused listen to the nurses as they tried to shush and scold him.

Unfortunately, the complete regaining of feeling also brought some pain signals to his brain, a brief distraction from current events. He pinpointed that the pain was coming from where his tugging on the leather straps chaffed tender spots along his wrists. Very tender spots. They stung exactly like something he was having far too much trouble remembering.

But he couldn't be concerned with that now, not while he needed to escape from this horrible position they put had him in. Or, whoever had put him in it. Why didn't he know?

Dammit, why couldn't he remember?

_Let me go! _

_Please!_

_It's not fair! _

Voices—thoughts, his thoughts, screamed inside his head, begging him to string it all together and to understand.

_God_, why didn't they all just leave him _alone_?

He bucked against the nurses again.

"It's not fair..." He voiced, head thrashing back and forth in resistence to the hands that held him, but these words were just garbled, slurred noises that he knew the hands wouldn't be able to comprehend. "Please!"

So, so confused...

_Please!_

_Where is she?_

_"..._I-" he tried.

_Let me go!_

_Why did you do this?_

_"_Ple-"

_It's not fair!_

"Mr. Goodman, just calm down." Someone murmured to him with a voice so collected and indifferent it made him want to scream.

_Where is she? _

"We're going to have to sedate him. Nurse Hanson?"

_Why?_

"I'm prepping the anesthetic now."

_Why!_

Screaming, screaming filled his head until—

_Where's my mother? _

One stray thought among white silence. His face contorted as his mind finally settled into understanding, and came with a sob that ripped through his entire body. All of the pieces had fallen into place.

"Gabriel, just stay still for me please, okay, sweetie?"

He remembered it all. His body collapsed against the bed in defeat as the fight just left him. Tears were rushing from his eyes.

_Why are you doing this?_

Suddenly, it all made sense, and he could actually make sense of why he was here. All these nurses made sense, this room made sense, the pain made sense, even the restraints made horrible, miserable sense. And he couldn't handle it.

_Why? _

_Why didn't you just let me die?_

Anger. Fear. Despair. The emotions swirled throughout him, mixing together until he could hardly recognize them and he was going to be sick. His chest hurt. It felt like his heart was literally breaking in his chest. How could they do this to him? His suffering was finally at it's end; he'd finally come to terms and accepted his situation as it was, only for them to bring him back down entrap him in his pitiful life. They'd ripped him away from her, and for what?

He hated them.

He should be dead.

He _wanted_ to be _dead. _Why couldn't they understand that?

Tiny sobs wracked Gabe's body whilst he felt them administer a thin, cool rush into his bloodstream. He didn't struggle, even when he was shushed by a nurse, like some fitful child. He had clearly given up fighting uselessly and had decided instead to not deny his misery. What was the fucking point anymore?

It wasn't fair. He was promised no more pain, promised an eternity to spend with his mother in a place he could feel safe and free and happy, and they've stolen that from him. They've taken away his choices, his free will. He couldn't even choose to die and this—_this_ was what hurt the most. He was just laying here helplessly, _restrained_, surrounded by people he didn't know and _they_ were the ones who got to decide what's best for him! That was rich. Gabe would have laughed if he weren't too busy crying.

And with that he truly wasn't interested in the rapid commotion around him; didn't care what they did to him, not anymore. It was all too fast for him to follow anyway. He had been so close to escape before he realized that _they_ wouldn't allow for it to be so simple. It wasn't _his_ choice_. _They would keep him tied down, literally tied down, and he would try and try but they would reign him back in.

Just as they did now.

His thoughts, the colors, his feelings were receding faster than he could even comprehend. He wanted to lash out, thought about it, but his stiffening body wouldn't allow for it. Mobility, just another thing they got to take away from him with drugs and fucking _restraints_.

Like they took his mother. Everyone wanted to take her from him and he can't understand why. Why isn't he allowed to have her? She's what made him happy, as simple as that is, but happiness is fleeting, isn't it? Happiness is a thing you can pursue, experience, but never, ever contain. And it was too far out of Gabe's reach for him to even try. Why should he?

He whimpered helplessly, quietly, and slipped from consciousness with a heavy clunk before he could begin to think of the answer.

-:():-:():-:():-:():-:():-

It'd been almost a half an hour and he hadn't said a word, not one. He barely moved, didn't acknowledged them, and there was nothing behind his still eyes. In fact, his body could have been completely frozen if it weren't for his even breathing and occasional blinking. It was tearing them to pieces.

It was so hard getting to this point, too. Natalie has clammed up since the minute the ambulance took him away on the worst night, and it took a lot for Dan to get her to come to the hospital with him for their first visit since he's regained consciousness, but he might as well still be asleep for all the difference it made. Dan thought that sitting beside his son when he was lying in a bed in the ICU with a sickly color to his skin and a weak pulse was as bad as it could be. He realized now that that was a stupid assumption.

Gabe was just staring off, and his eyes were blank and eerily absent. Still as can be, his vitals were in check and his pulse strong but there was something so goddamn awful about the way his dead eyes blinked mindlessly, about the way he was just _gone_. And even though there was nothing physically wrong with him, and his wounds were healing, there was a stricken feeling in Dan's gut that he had somehow lost him anyway, or lost, maybe ruined, a big part of him.

Dr. Madden explained to him that it was common for patients with a major depressive disorder to feel emotionally detached or sometimes detached from reality after waking up in a hospital, and that Gabe would snap out of it eventually. He told him that Gabe's suicide attempt was unprecedented and it wasn't Dan's fault he didn't notice any signs leading to it. He told him he'd just have to be much more careful. Except Dan thought he was being careful. And look where that had gotten him.

Inside the flourescent-lit room, the three of them sat in silence, Gabe sitting up against a pillow and railing on the hospital bed. The skin around Gabe's face was drawn and slightly pale when Dan looked at him, but not nearly as pale as the worst night. His hair was messy from inattention, and his eyes were red and sore-looking. But he was alive. At least.

Natalie, still wearing her jacket even though she'd stepped inside a half an hour ago and her arms folded tightly against her chest, had angry and quiet tears shining in her eyes, ones that she refused to shed. She didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction or idea that she was so affected by her brother. Dan didn't force any scrutiny on her, so she was safe. Instead, focused on his son.

Speaking of Dan, well, he didn't know what to think. His hair was mussed from running worried fingers through it, and he choked on all the words that were stuck in his throat. He wasn't sure what should happen next, or what to do with the card he'd been played, so he stayed quiet and let the time pass.

This was a situation he would have deal with slowly, and with caution and attention to detail.

He can still remember the sound of his daughter's shrieks, and he remembered the way it felt. It was like striking a live wire in him. He'd ran up the stairs immediately after that, listening to her begging for his help. There was barely enough time to fear the worst before made it up. No words can describe the dread he felt once he made it into the hall and saw that the door his son was in was cracked open, hearing those tormented cries of his daughter coming straight from inside. No words could compare.

By then, he knew what he'd find, but nothing could have prepared him for how it looked when he stepped inside. Not even the past.

It was like his blood turned to ice. He stumbled to his knees beside his daughter, who was looking away, and shuffled closer. He couldn't speak, could barely think, could only feel the cold, gut-wrenching remorse coiling and growing in his gut as trembling fingers fished his out his cell in his pocket to dial 9-1-1, and reached out to gather his son to his chest. It was all too familiar, and all too hard to accept. He almost couldn't recognize him, limp and lifeless in his arms. His child, dying before his eyes, and all the blood... His voice wavered horrendously when he found his breath and spoke to the operator on the line.

The cuts were, actually, shallower and less exact than most wounds of it's nature. It almost as if the cuts were made idly, like maybe he hadn't been paying much attention to his own suicide. So, in theory, when the ambulance arrived, he still had a present, if incredibly weak, pulse. Gabe wouldn't have slipped away immediately, but that was only because they'd noticed in time. If Natalie hadn't had checked for her dad in his room, then she would have never found her brother, and Dan couldn't think about what that would have meant for them.

Still, the event had made it's sentence. It was affecting all of them. Natalie had never seen anything like it in her life, something so traumatic, and she was suffering from it, he could tell. And Gabe would continue to suffer, that much was obvious. There wasn't an end in sight and Dan felt like drowning.

Madden mentioned to him that he guessed Gabe was psychologically detaching in this way because the circumstances were making him relive traumatic events. Dan wanted to scream and hit things. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so stupid and so blind? Has he learned nothing?

He guesses that would explain why after all things years, he still doesn't know how to handle the situation. Ideas to comfort and reassure were lost on him. He was trying his best, and his best wasn't good enough.

It never will be good enough, not when he's all on his own.

-:():-:():-:():-:():-:():-

"What?" Dan took a few steps closer to the doctor, alarmed. This, of all things, he'd never expect to hear from this doctor. "I mean, they still do that?"

"We do." Madden confirmed. He was used to this reaction, especially when it came from patients' family members, everytime he told them about this procedure: shock, worry, and suspicion. "It's the standard in cases like these, really; for a young adult, your son has quite a long history in drug therapy and resistance, and he's now acutely suicidal. If he continues as he's been refusing the medication, it's really our best option."

There was a dragging moment of silence as Dan thought. He bowed his head and rubbed a thumb across his brow, steeling himself, and his face was remarkably paler when he next faced the doctor. The thought of his child, or any innocent person for that matter, going through a medical procedure like this was enough to turn his stomach a bit. His voice was was strained and subdued as he spoke.

"Well that's kinda... terrifying."

"It's not." The doctor promised. "The electricity involved is barely enough to light a one hundred watt bulb."

"Oh, just a hundred watts." Dan deadpanned, and his were words painted with tired sarcasm. One of his hands rested against his hip and the other scratched his scalp wearily. The amount of white and pestilence in this hospital hallway was making him fidget.

DrMadden hid a quirk of a smile in the tight line he made with his lips. Yes, he could definitely see some of where Gabriel got his personality from. "I assure you, it's safer than crossing the street." He stated. "And the short-term success rate is over eighty percent."

Of course, this had to be true. Dr. Madden wouldn't lie to him, but it was just more statistics. More information about another treatment—the technical, hard, cold facts—that were just facts. His son _was not _a fact. He was a person. He's human. Throughout all the drug therapy and talks with thousands of brand new psychiatrists, even through the lithium, Gabe never stopped being Dan's son. The happiness and well-being of his child is _not_ a study case.

This puzzle, the obstacle of Gabe's treatment, seemed to be regarded very factually considering how incredibly personal it is. It's sensitive and it's real.

Dan hesitated before responding, fleetingly: "I thought he was better."

He was so _tired_ of facts and statistics.

Madden sighed slightly, tapping his thumb absently on the edge of the vanilla portfolio that held Gabe's paperwork. "Sometimes," he paused, "patients recover just enough strength to follow through on suicidal impulses... but not enough strength to resist them."

The two men let a silence pass, one that was heavy with thought. This, for Dan, was difficult to comprehend. It's not that he couldn't understand it, but, mostly, he just didn't want to.

"Well that's sound very... Fucked."

"Yes." Madden agreed, grimly, just before clearing his throat. His steady fingers quickly adjusted his glasses, then he spoke. "It is. Now, we still need him to sign his consent to follow through with the treatment, as he's now over the age of eighteen, but, hostpital policy is we need your signature, too."

Dan just shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think he's gonna go for this."

"Mr. Goodman," the doctor settled, extending a hand and getting the man to meet his eye. His disposition was serious and full of professional concern. "If you get him to consent, then we can administer the ECT and you can bring him home in ten days. We'll see how or if it helps him, and if it doesn't turn out exactly how we'd hoped, then, well, we'll at least have tried it. The alternative, however, is...we keep him sedated for fourty-eight hours, discharge him in the morning, and..." he adjusted Gabe's file in his hands so he was holding it in both, "wait for him to try again."

Dan's face clouded with understanding, and took on the expression of deep contemplation.

He was just so lost, so clueless. He didn't know what to do anymore.

It didn't feel like this could be right ever again, and everytime he thinks about it he's drowned with hopelessness. He can't handle the responsibility of being the keeper of a family with so much to work on, along with the pain and guilt he's collected for his son. No, he can't do it. At least not alone. For the thousandth time, the world he'd spent so much time super-glueing back together was crashing down around him and there was no other way to fix it.

How could he have let this happen?

"Look, go home." Madden suggested, seeing that Dan clearly wasn't in his best mind. "Take the night. You could definitely use the rest. We can talk to him in the morning."

Even though Dan was hesitant to drop it so easily, it only took one throb of a steady migraine to affirm that he really couldn't think straight right now.

"Yeah, alright." He allowed, and his throat felt dry and sticky with the words despite their logic.

There had always been a part of him that felt guilty for what he thought deserved more of his attention, especially when it comes to his family. If felt like it should be taking more of him than was physically possible. It was hard not to feel guilty for allowing his body to give up, even just for the night. Because that's just what it felt like. Giving up.

There's was too much surrender in his family, and it was up to him to be the one who won't ever give in. He can't fail his family, not after years and years a fighting to keep their head above water. It wasn't worth it to just give up now, not after all the work he'd installed into it.

He had to be the one person in this family to not give up, and god knows that was important.

When he got home and collapsed upon his bed, ignoring the memory of blood-stained floor and horror, he tried to push everything from his mind in order to get some real sleep. In wakefulness, of course, he could manage to keep it from skimming across his mind, but he couldn't help himself in sleep, when the images of doctors, anesthesia, his son, and electricity haunted his dreams in bright and threatening flashes.

* * *

><p>Notes: Thank you for reading this long dragging chapter, and even if I don't deserve it, I would love love love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again, lovely readers!<p>

~Em


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